The Countess Cliché
by UnseenCharacters
Summary: There are ideas that come up so often, used by so many different people, that they can only possibly be called clichés. Rugen having a daughter is one of those ideas, but I figure if they weren't good ideas, people wouldn't keep using them... Ch. 13 up.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: Odd title, I know, but I was struggling to think of one. I was thinking, earlier, about the fact that a lot of the time, the same ideas come up again and again. Something different is done with them each time, and often I'll find that two of my favourite fics are ones which take the same basic idea but run in different directions with it. There's a whole load of stuff that nobody ever seems to go near – Íñigo's travels as a young man, or how Vizzini came to be a master criminal, for example, and yet there's other things, like this, which come up so often they've become fic clichés. I've seen at least five other what-if-Rugen-had-a-daughter fics. OK so one of them was mine, and a right load of old tosh it was too, but it's always a daughter. It's never what-if-Rugen-had-a-son. Is that because PB is so short of female characters, or is there some other reason for it? Anyway, that's a rather long-winded way of saying sorry about the rubbish title and the fic of no originality, but I'm still ill, therefore I'm still writing, and this is what came out this time. _

_**The Countess Cliché, Chapter 1**_

Vizzini didn't deal directly with Prince Humpedinck. He dealt with Count Tyrone Rugen, who owed his position in part to the fact that he was prepared to deal with such "little jobs" for Humpedinck. If anything went wrong, it would be Rugen who took the blame, but he was a careful man and planned everything to the last detail. Nothing ever had gone wrong, and he had benefited greatly. He wasn't a stupid man, by any stretch of the imagination, and so he was also careful to keep records which implicated Humpedinck, even if the Prince thought he was in the clear. Should the unthinkable happen he would not be facing the torturers – men he himself had trained – alone.

Rugen didn't meet the Sicilian at the castle, of course, it was usually at an inn somewhere along the route the Count had chosen when taking his daughter Betha to visit some vague relation or other. It never occurred to the Count that his daughter might just be growing up to be every bit as sneaky and ruthless as her father, or that there was any possibility of her knowing what his plans were. She was only a girl. A son would have been more useful, a son he could have taught things, but all he had was a daughter. Useful, at times, but mostly just a chore.

He often thought it a shame that she'd not been prettier, or at least glamourous like her mother, but he'd be able to marry her off to someone eventually. He would say goodnight to her and tuck her into bed at the inn then go downstairs to "have a little night-cap" in the bar. On his return, he always thought he was being as quiet as a mouse and not disturbing the girl asleep in the next room, but firstly, he was always more than a little tipsy by then, and secondly, she usually wasn't there.

* * *

"You know," Vizzini said as she sat down at the table, "One day he's going to catch you." It was what he always said.

"But not tonight," she replied with a smile, just as she always did. It may seem strange that she trusted Vizzini not to betray her to her father, but to the Sicilian, Humpedinck and Rugen's plans were just business. He'd no loyalty to them, and dealing with Betha, helping her with the few little things she wanted was not really a conflict of interest. He was a genius, he had plenty of brain power left over. Besides, he actually liked the girl. Unlike her father, she spoke to him as though he were her equal, not an employee. Also, unlike her father, he had noticed that she had something of a brain in her head.

Until a few minutes after her father had left, she'd sat in the bar, as she had many times before, her disguise nothing more than having her hair down and wearing peasant clothes as she ate, drank, and chatted with some other woman "travelling alone". In another time, and born into another family, she might well have been an accomplished actress, as she was very good at becoming someone else. She could easily make people think she was years older than she was just by her manner. She could watch a person for a few moments and then imitate them. Had the Count noticed her, he would simply have thought that she was a peasant who happened to look a lot like Betha, maybe even wonder if she was a bastard he'd fathered before he was married, but never that it might _be_ Betha.

In any case, the count didn't look at peasants. He'd note the positions of any men who might just be armed, be aware in a moment of anyone looking their way or walking too close, but other than that, they were invisible to him. The women were usually whores, and looking in their direction would often mean they came over in the hope of making some money, and what threat could a woman be? They were doubly invisible.

The education Betha had got from chatting to the whores in the various taverns was something she had to be careful not to betray in her day to day life. It wasn't just the physical aspects, it was the independence of the women. To these women, men were not people, they were things, a source of money and nothing more, while she was more used to the idea that women were possessions. That had never really sat well with her, but after talking to those women, she was starting to have Ideas and Opinions.

When her companion for the evening had left the table for whatever reason, she would catch Vizzini's eye and go over, and sitting a little too close, he'd fill her in on her father's plans.

"You know about the Princess, of course," he said, waving at the wench to bring them drinks. Betha asked for the most expensive spirit on the menu, as that was what most of the whores did. The wench brought the drinks, and Vizzini paid – Betha had already slipped him several coins under the table.

"Yes," she said, before taking a sip of the drink. "But there's something more, something in his manner... I'm involved in this, aren't I?"

"He should be watching himself more around you. Yes, once she's out of the way, after a suitable period of mourning... your father is going to suggest Humpedinck marries you." Betha smiled, and took Vizzini's hand, turning it over to run fingertips across his palm.

"That can't happen." She felt sick. Oh, yes, it meant that one day she would be Queen, but at what a price... If any man treated a whore too roughly, there was always a man nearby in possession of a club with a nail in it, who would ensure that they would not do such a thing again. She would have no such protection, and she knew only too well what sort of man Humpedinck was. If she were not completely meek and subservient, he would make her so. She had seen it happen to other women and she would have no real power even as Queen. "You will help me?"

"I can't," Vizzini said, running a finger down Betha's cheek and blowing her a kiss. "Your father would find you."

"No, I don't want to run away," she said, before licking her lips. "I have no desire to lose the one advantage I have in life. No, I want you to find me a husband. There's a law which should help me, brought in when old Lotharon married his first wife. If a noblewoman can get a clergyman of sufficient rank to perform the ceremony and her parents do not object for a month, then even if they knew nothing of the wedding, it is legal and binding. It won't save me from my father's anger, I know that... beatings I will accept, Humpedinck for a husband, never."

"This needs a little longer," he said, after a moment. "My room." He took her hand and led her off up the stairs. Once in his room, he sat on the bed. She didn't. The little hunchback was always just a little _too _convincing in his flirting with her.

"So... how do you propose to convince a clergyman to..."

Betha cut him off with a wave. "The archbishop owes me favour. That part is no problem, and if I can meet with you without his knowledge, then I can marry without it as well."

"Very well. Then it's just a matter of what sort of man you want me to find for you." It was something Betha had considered often since she had realised that her options were marriage or a convent and that being a nun really wasn't for her. She really wasn't a morning person, if nothing else. She just hadn't expected to be looking for a husband just yet. Oh she'd evaluated every man she met, what woman didn't, but not _seriously._

"I want a peasant," she said, marking off her points on her fingers, "so that he will be willing to marry me for the money, but have nothing if something...happens to me. I want him stupid, but in a kind way, if you see what I mean. A man I can manipulate easily, not a thug. He must be able to defend me, and himself, however. Also, he must be handsome, or people will wonder why on earth I would have chosen him."

"You don't want much..."

"I realise that finding a handsome peasant who can handle a sword is asking for a lot, but I have faith in you."

Vizzini grinned. "I'll see what I can do."

"That is all I can ask. I'll need you to keep track of him, of course... but keep him away from me, where possible, until he's needed..." She clapped her hands together in front of her, and looked Vizzini in the eye. "So... payment?"

They discussed terms and Betha slipped away back to her room.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Countess Cliché, Chapter 2**_

Vizzini had done what he could, but the four men he'd shown her hadn't been suitable. The first was stunningly attractive but, she realised quite quickly, could barely hold a sword. The second was not nearly so stupid as he was making out and she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. The third and fourth, Betha couldn't imagine any woman choosing to marry, let alone a noblewoman. Even so, Betha was starting to get desperate. The Princess Buttercup's training was coming along enough that in a matter of weeks, she'd be ready for Humpedinck to present her to the people. Betha was desperate enough that she'd demanded Vizzini find her another man at once and meet her near the theives forest where she knew he was staying with the men he'd enlisted to carry out the "little job" on the Princess.

Betha didn't much care what happened to Buttercup. It wasn't so much that the girl was stupid, annoying, hopelessly wet and naieve so much as that she thought that really her death would be a lucky escape from what fate had in store for _her. _She rode to the clearing having convinced her father that letting Buttercup ride out alone and not allowing her the same would have aroused suspicion. On arriving there, she slowed her horse to a walk, hoping to surprise Vizzini. He wasn't there, however. Vizzini, unbeknownst to her was still rushing around the town in a desperate attempt to find her a more acceptable husband.

What she found in the clearing was Íñigo, exercising as he did every day. He'd no idea he was being watched, so he wasn't particularly showing off, but his imaginary opponent was clear in his mind as his feet danced effortlessly round the clearing, up onto tree stumps and rocks, carefully avoiding puddles, his sword slashing and thrusting and glinting in the dappled sunlight. It was an impressive sight, especially if you had some idea of what he was doing, but had only seen dull men in draughty castle rooms carefully rehearsing the same motions over and over, or making their attacks on straw-filled sacks.

It was a hot day, unusually so for Florin, and Íñigo had worked up quite a sweat. Where the sun caught him, his skin glistened with it. He finished, ran his sleeve across his forehead, then sniffed him armpit with a horrified expression. He eyed the small pool at the edge of the clearing, shrugged and headed towards it, stripping off his shirt as he went. He threw the shirt aside, and Betha held her breath as he reached towards the buttons of his trousers, but then her horse sneezed and he looked round, startled.

"Who's there?" he demanded, not quite able to see her in the dark amongst the trees.

_Damned animal_, she thought, and kicked it harshly. It ambled forward into the clearing and she could feel herself blushing. "An unusually hot day, today," she said amiably, affecting to not have noticed his flat stomach, the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest or the hard, defined muscles of his arms. "Most people are just lazing about enjoying the sunshine."

"I train every day," he told her, "I must, lest I fail in my quest to bring my father's murderer to justice."

"A noble cause," she agreed, "I suppose that's left you with little time for socialising?"

He nodded, giving her a most delightful little smile. "Are you flirting with me, M'lady?"

"Do you wish to be flirted with?" she asked with a smirk.

He shook his head. "It's flattering, but my quest must come before all else."

"Naturally. I have no desire to interfere with it, but I think perhaps we might be able to be of use to one another."

"Oh?" She seemed suddenely... businesslike. Surely a whore who could afford to dress so finely wouldn't think _he_ could afford her?

"You have a sword any nobleman would be proud of, but your clothes tell me you live simply. Travelling can be an expensive business, you must take what work you can find, yes, and that slows you down? Well, if you can help me, then I can help you with your costs. You see, I've heard that Daddy wants me to marry a friend of his, a simply odious man, and I want nothing more than to get out of it. If I get married and manage to keep it a secret for a few weeks, then it's all legal and there's nothing Daddy can do about it."

Íñigo stood listening to her, wondering if she was quite out of her mind. Still, she was a noblewoman and not a rich whore, and noblewomen did tend to be eccentric. He said nothing, and she continued.

"It actually works well for me that you'd not be around. If you're not there, Daddy can't find out about you, and when I do have to tell him, you'll not be there for him to arrange for something to happen to you. So long as I spend at least one night with you every year, then we stay married. I can give you more money for your quest when you come to see me, and once it's over, if you meet a girl you like, well, just don't come back that year, and it's all off, we're divorced."

"What if you find a nobleman you want to marry?"

She laughed. "You've not met many noblemen, have you? Noblewomen don't get married because they're in love, they do it because they have no choice. The lucky ones get to try to pick the least offensive or the richest for themselves, but mostly we're just passed around as a way to seal treaties."

"Then why marry me? I'm a peasant."

"Exactly. Have you looked in a mirror lately? They'll take one look at you and think they know exactly why I chose you."

"Even if you only see me for one night a year?"

"Oh, I don't know, there's a certain romance to the idea, don't you think? And of course, I'll pine terribly for you while you're away. Everyone will get quite sick of my talking about how wonderful you are, and as soon as my back's turned the women will tut and say what a silly girl I am for not being able to see that you're only interested in my money and no doubt have a wife in every port, and secretly be _burning_ with jealousy because they're stuck with _their_ husbands all the time."

Inigo chuckled and considered. She did seem to have thought of everything, and he'd already known about what the people called the nag's law. It had been brought in to help women whose husbands had run off and who couldn't afford to divorce them because of it, but what had actually happened was that it just made it all the easier for men to run off and leave with their mistresses. If only it were so easy to get rid of a husband or wife in Italy! Giulietta had told him that she'd dressed as a peasant in order to find love, but after the dance, after their night together, she'd admitted that what she really meant was that she wanted to find love _before she got married. _His saying he couldn't marry her had just made him seem all the more perfect.

Her husband had been chosen for her years before, and they didn't hate each other, but nor did they much care for each other. So long as nobody much knew about it, he'd not mind that she wasn't a maiden when they married, she'd turn a blind eye to his affairs and once they had some sons, so long as she was discreet about it he'd do the same for her, if only Inigo would come back. That had been what had really broken his heart. She'd let him think that she could be his, when really, all he could hope for was to be her plaything. She could have run away with him, but while she was prepared to play at being a peasant, she wouldn't do it for real.

At thirty years old, he'd given up on finding love. Women his age were either married, whores, or, here in Florin, bitter divorcees with several children in tow. That's how he'd found out about the nag's law - several women had tried to net him. Younger women wouldn't consider a man his age, not when there were men their own age with jobs and homes and years of happy life before them. Men who wouldn't stand a good chance of being hunted down and put to death for killing a nobleman... except he wouldn't, would he, if he married this girl? If he married a noblewoman, then he'd become a nobleman. A minor one, whatever her rank, but a nobleman nonetheless, and then he could duel with whatever nobleman he wanted – short of the King – and so long as he had a genuine grievance, then it was all perfectly legal.

So what if he was going to be married to a woman he didn't love? He'd precious little chance of finding love anyway, and she, unknowingly, was offering him not just money but life. Life, and the chance to be a father, he realised. He'd been pacing as he thought, and she was looking at him, nervously.

"What manner of noblewoman are you?" he asked, thinking he should probably ask at least a couple more questions. "Are you independently wealthy or do you depend on your father?"

"I'm a Countess, and yes, I am independently wealthy, or at least, my late mother's wealth is being held in trust for me. You realise that if we divorce or something... happens to me, you'll get nothing? So no ideas of my dying tragically on our wedding night, hmm?"

"What sort of man do you take me for?"

"The sort of man who is about to marry a woman he has only just met so that he can afford to find and kill another man?"

"Alright, you have a point, but that's not murder. It's justice."

"As you say. Do we have a deal?"

"We don't even know each other's names."

"Elisabetha."

"Íñigo."

"Well then, Inigo, they say there is no time like the present. Shall we go and see my friend the Archbishop?"

"I stink," he pointed out.

"True," she admitted, "But inviting as that pool looks, it's full of leeches, which I would rather not have to pick off you. You can get cleaned up when we arrive."


	3. Chapter 3

_**The Countess Cliché, Chapter 3**_

Vizzini rushed towards the clearing, dreading telling the Countess that he'd failed. He saw the fresh hoof-prints as he scurried along, but soon realised he'd missed her. He wasn't _that _late, surely? He'd have to follow her. First thing, follow her tracks.

Vizzini frowned. She'd stopped, here, just outside the clearing, the horse had fidgeted. Why? She'd gone into the clearing again, then walked the horse off _that_ way... That was when he noticed the footprints. She'd met someone here, a man. She could be in trouble, this close to the thieves forest there were all sorts of unsavoury characters. He'd need the stupids for this, so rushed off to the shack they were sharing.

"Hello, Vizzini," Fezzik said with a wave. "What's the rush?"

"A friend of mine is in trouble and needs our help, a young lady. Where's the sot?"

"Íñigo? Training, like always, but he's not usually this long."

"Training? Where?"

"There's a clearing, not far away..."

"Then he's probably already on his way to help her. Let's get after them." He scrambled up onto the giant's back. "We'll follow the tracks from the clearing. Go!"

Vizzini was sure he knew what had happened. Íñigo had been there when Betha arrived, she'd watched him a while, then spoken to him. He'd realised that she was the six-fingered-man's daughter, and had kidnapped her. He'd not be able to get into the castle to get him out, but if he could bring the man to him... He wouldn't hurt Betha, though, would he? He was basically a good man, but an obsessed one. If Rugen didn't come straight away, didn't believe that he had the Countess, then... he shook his head. No point wondering. He just had to get to them, quickly.

The two sets of tracks continued until they were out of the forest, and then the footprints had stopped, and the horse had picked up speed... he urged Fezzik into a run, concentrating on following the tracks, rather than where exactly they were going, until they were lost in the mess of tracks near the stables of a grand house.

* * *

The Archbishop glanced at the door to the next room, from which was issuing the occasional splash, and bursts of enthusiastic Castillian singing.

"Are you _sure_ about this, Betha dear?" he asked. "He's... hardly what I would have... expected, and this is all a little... sudden. He hasn't... hurt you?"

She pulled a face. "I found out who Daddy wants me to marry," she said, "Frankly, I'd rather marry the Albino. This one's perfect, he's a peasant so he won't get my money if he kills me and he's on some silly quest. I'll finance that for him and he'll be out of the way most of the year." She turned, and seeing the old clergyman's expression put on an extremely earnest expression. "I shall pine terribly, of course, because I do love him so."

The Archbishop pursed his lips at her. She was too young to be so cynical. "You... realise you'll have to... well... has anyone..."

"I'm not a child." she said with a scowl. "Anyway. Better a man of my choosing, even if he is a peasant. He does seem to quite like being clean, which is more than one can hope for even from some noblemen."

"Yes, yes, of course... well..." the singing and splashing stopped and a few moments later, Íñigo emerged, his hair wet and the clergyman's clean shirt sticking to his damp skin. Betha tore her eyes away, and looked to the Archbishop.

"There, all ready?"

The wedding was conducted quickly, the witnesses the Archbishop's cook and housekeeper. The pair signed the register – that surprised Betha, that Íñigo could write his own name. She'd wanted stupid, and if he could read and write then he probably wasn't... but still. It might mean she could sculpt him into an acceptable nobleman without too much effort, if he decided to stay once that quest nonsense was over with. That... might not be too terrible an idea.

"There'saroomupthestairssecondrightI'llbeinmyoffice," the Archbishop said and fled.

"Actually," she said seeing Íñigo's horrified expression, "That's not strictly necessary, if you'd rather not."

"Uh?"

"I know what they'll check is gone, and it already is. It happens, sometimes, I have a cousin in Italy whose husband nearly refused her because of it, but then they said it had probably happened when she fell off her horse." Everything Betha had been told led her to think that women never enjoyed sex, they only pretended. It was something men wanted which women gave them for money, because their husbands demanded it or because they wanted children. This marriage was a sham, and she certainly wasn't ready to be a mother.

Íñigo nodded. It was a relief, really. He'd not been sure he could have just... well, he'd never been much interested in whores, and they'd only just met. He'd known women on his travels, but it wasn't like they'd flirted for more than a few moment, and while she was pretty enough, there was something off-putting about her face. She reminded him a little of a bird of prey, and that made him think about putting a leather hood on her, so she wouldn't bite him. Perhaps once he'd had a chance to get to know her a little he'd feel differently, and anyway, next time he'd have had time to get used to the idea. With any luck she'd be taller, too. He'd get a bad back leaning down to kiss such a short woman.

"We should probably pretend, though. I expect he'll be listening," she said with a grimace.

They headed up the stairs and bounced on the bed making "appropriate" noises for a few minutes, then collapsed together giggling.

"I should kiss you," Íñigo said gently, reaching out to stroke her flushed cheek, "He'll expect you to have marks from my moustache."

She licked her lips, obviously tempted, then got up suddenly. "No. I can't risk my father noticing anything. We didn't kiss, you had me from behind. That wouldn't have left any marks I won't already have got from your holding on to me on the horse. I have to go now. You're staying in the thieves forest, I assume? I can't go there myself, but I can send the money to you, with an associate of mine."

She rode straight for the castle, leaving Íñigo stood outside wondering which way to go. Vizzini would be annoyed if he was gone much longer. He'd just have to try to retrace their path. As he came round the corner of the building, he saw Fezzik, and then Vizzini scampering around looking at the mud.

"Hello!" he called, "What are you two doing here?"

"Looking for you and a lady. Vizzini said she was in trouble."

"You mean Betha?" Íñigo asked.

"Yes," Vizzini said, narrowing his eyes. "What have you done with her?"

"We got married. She offered me money..."

"GAH! Do you have any idea what you've _done?! _You..." he paused. The _last_ thing he could do was explain. "We have a contract. You finish this job for me, first. Then you can go to her and have her money."

This was awful. Even if it wasn't Betha's father that Íñigo was searching for, they would be going to Guilder. Humpedinck would catch the stupids, they would admit under torture that they'd been working for the Guilderians, or at least, they'd be tortured and Rugen would say they had.

Anything could happen. Betha would have no husband to present, or if the Archbishop talked, or Íñigo did, then she'd be implicated, and that would have Rugen coming after _him__. _Why couldn't the stupid girl have _waited_ for him? Why did she have to go making such a rash choice on her own? Why did Íñigo have to _accept _it? He couldn't take the risk of letting these stupids live, now, and he couldn't risk them talking to Rugen either. He'd just have to kill them himself, at the same time as the Princess, and that would mean poison... Humpedinck had wanted her strangled, but he'd just have to compromise. Now, what poisons would the Guilderians use... and where was he going to get a Guilderian uniform in Fezzik's size?! He'd still have to find Betha a husband, too.


	4. Chapter 4

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 4.**_

Above all things, Vizzini thought, he had to keep everyone in the dark. Keeping Íñigo well away from Betha, and more importantly, the Castle, should be enough. He couldn't have the Spaniard using that clearing any more, just in case the Countess came looking for him there. He'd met up with her to collect Íñigo's money – which he had no intention of handing over, it wasn't like he was actually going to get the chance to spend it – and when she'd asked after him, her eyes had said it all.

He'd thought she was a sensible sort, but no, she'd gone and developed a crush on the man. Never mind helping her now, once this job was over he was going to have to get as far from Florin as he could, and never come back. Women! Never anything but trouble. He moved the troupe out of the thieves forest. It was more expense, more out of his profit, but that couldn't be helped. She probably wouldn't be so silly as to come looking, but there was no telling how stupid she'd be now she had a crush.

He couldn't fathom what might have happened to cause her crush. He knew they'd not _ahem, _no Spaniard could keep the swagger out of his walk when he'd had a woman, so what had he said or done? How had he charmed her? The Spaniard didn't seem to want to talk about it, probably because he'd been so angry with him when he'd found out.

Word came from Rugen soon enough, though, and then they had the Princess and were off, towards Guilder, and everything there at least was going to plan.

* * *

That damned man in black, he was going to ruin everything. Why did people have to come along to ruin a perfectly good job by rescuing Princesses? How he knew they were going to have her he'd no idea, unless one of the stupids had talked. No matter, they were both dead now, which at least saved him the trouble of killing them as well as the girl.

It worried him, though. Alright, Montoya hadn't been at his best, but he had _been_ the best. He should have still been better than some idiot in a mask, even if he had insisted on using his left hand. The man must have tricked him, somehow, that was the only explanation. It would explain Fezzik, too. No man so small should have been able to best a man of Fezzik's size unless he cheated.

Maybe he could be reasoned with. If not, poisoned. He readied a table with two glasses of wine and the poisoned bread and cheese he'd had ready and then the man was coming over the hill. He had always preferred to work alone. Nothing could possibly go wrong now that the stupids weren't there to mess it all up. Anything else was simply inconceivable. They'd have a nice chat, he'd offer the man something to eat... but no. Vizzini could see the intelligence burning in the man's eyes. A challenge. It had been years since he'd been truly challenged. The one thing Vizzini had never been able to resist was a battle of wits.

* * *

Fezzik could move surprisingly quietly when he wanted to, and he could become almost invisible, too. Unless he drew attention to himself, people simply didn't notice him. His face was too high up for them to notice him, so they'd bump into him or just walk round him and give him no more thought than if he'd been a tree or a cart or a wall.

That was how he'd found out what the man in black wanted – he'd woken up and heard them talking. They ran off, and he found Vizzini's body, then headed in the direction they had fled. As he came towards them along the top of the ravine, the wind brought him their words. They were heading into the fire swamp so he followed, making his way across through the tops of the trees. That was easy enough to do, if you had Fezzik's strength, and his reach. Anyone smaller would have struggled.

On the other side he'd seen Humpedinck riding towards them and started climbing down to warn them, but he'd been too slow. They were there, and there were men with swords, and pikes, and crossbows. Fezzik stood very still, next to a tree, and thought _I'm not here_ as hard as he could. He saw Humpedinck take the Princess, and then saw the Pirate talking to the nobleman and... six fingers. It was the six fingered man! He had to find Íñigo, but how?

* * *

It had all gone wrong, and he'd gone back to the beginning... and without Fezzik and Vizzini there to stop him, Íñigo crawled straight back into a bottle. At first, he'd told himself that it was to ease the pain in his head from the blow the man in black had given him, but really he knew better. He'd messed it all up, he'd failed Vizzini through his pride, and the one thing he knew about Betha was that he didn't dare try to get into the Castle to see her. Their wedding wasn't legal, yet, and if he tried to see her, someone would work out why he was there, and he would have messed up yet again.

So, he drank, and he waited. Then Fezzik had found him, and told him everything he'd learned. As soon as Íñigo heard that Count Rugen was the man he was searching for, and that he was in Florin Castle, where his wife also lived, he understood. Rugen was the man her father wanted her to marry. She'd be so pleased when she found out that he'd killed him, and he could taunt the nobleman with the fact that the woman he wanted for himself belonged to Íñigo. The one problem that remained, then, was how to get into the Castle.

The man in black, he would know what to do, but Fezzik had said Rugen had taken him. If he was in the Castle... that was when he heard the scream. He felt his own heart answering it, recognizing the hell of having someone you loved taken from you... and he could follow it, like a bloodhound could follow the scent of a juicy steak.

* * *

Betha wandered away from the farce of a wedding. There had been a terrible commotion outside, Humpedinck had jerked his head and Daddy had turned to leave, clicking his fingers for some guards to follow him. As he passed her, he'd snapped at her to go to her room and lock herself in. She, of course, had gone. She couldn't disobey him with so many people around, but she could dawdle.

Humpedinck wasn't very happy with her father for hiring Vizzini, she knew that much, and Daddy was annoyed too, but then he'd been caught up with a "special project". She knew what that meant, he'd been torturing someone, someone special, but then there had been that awful scream, and father had come storming past her, and not even acknowledged her. He had been absolutely livid about something, but_ what?_

She'd no idea what was going on, and it scared her. How could she protect herself if she had no idea what she had to protect herself _from? _Before, she'd thought Daddy would look after her, but then she'd found out that he cared more about keeping Humpedinck happy and about his own advancement than he did about her. She was just another tool. Had Humpedinck decided to stay married to the girl?

She'd no idea that Íñigo was working for Vizzini, but Vizzini assured her that he would keep an eye on him and let her know where he got to. Now, he couldn't do that. If Humpedinck didn't want to stay married to Buttercup and she had no husband to present... besides, it hadn't been long enough. If Daddy found out now he could declare it illegal, so Íñigo wouldn't be able to protect her yet.

Maybe Vizzini's first suggestion had been right, and she'd have to run. She tried to remember where the most portable valuables where. Mother's jewellery, that would do, but that was kept in Father's room, which ruled out stealing it in the night and sneaking off. If it came to that, she'd have to run in broad daylight. It was a drastic solution, with a high risk of being caught. She'd not be able to come back until she was sure her marriage was legal, she'd found Íñigo, and knew what the situation back at the Castle was... Best to wait until the situation definitely _was_ drastic, rather than just probably, in case she couldn't come back at all.

As she neared the great hall, she heard a shout from inside.

"Stop saying that!" It had been Daddy. What was going on? Hadn't he gone to the gates?

"Hello! My name is Íñigo Montoya, you killed my father. Prepare to die."

_This,_ she thought, _Is Not Good. This is, in fact, Very, Very, Bad. _She heard the clash of swords, more talking, but through the door she couldn't make out who it had been, or what had been said. There was another clash of swords, a crash, a thump... and then silence.

She held her breath, listening, for what seemed like forever but which was actually nearer to thirty seconds. She eased the door open, and peered inside. All quiet. She slipped inside, and looked around. She could see there had been a scuffle, candlesticks were knocked over, the food on the high table was all over the place... and there was a body in front of the table. A body which had hit the table before it had hit the floor.

She ran over and knelt beside it. There was blood, a lot of blood, and his blue eyes were open and staring, glassily. "Daddy?" she whispered. She touched his neck, trying to find some hint of a pulse. Nothing.

"_Daddy..."_ She shook him. "DADDY!"


	5. Chapter 5

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 5**_

Nothing. Had she really expected anything? He was dead.

Daddy was dead, so only Lotharon could challenge her marriage, and he wouldn't. He liked weddings, he always approved them. Her husband had killed her father, and there was nothing anyone could do about it, except challenge him themselves, because she'd made him a nobleman, and so it was just a duel. At least, _officially_ there was nothing anyone could do about it.

She wiped her eyes, screamed in frustration and stamped her foot. It was all so _unfair. _She looked around and saw the blood on the wall and father's dagger there on the floor. There was blood on the table, across the floor... and yes, off up the stairs. A trail as clear as anything. It didn't matter where he went, she'd be able to follow. She grabbed the dagger, and ran off to grab her mother's jewellery. All that had been Daddy's was hers, now, but she wasn't going to hang around. The situation had become very drastic indeed.

She was _technically_ a very powerful woman, but only technically. In reality, she was utterly powerless. If she'd been prepared, then things would be different, she'd have people she could trust, guards and spies and advisors, but she couldn't trust anyone who'd been loyal to her father, not when she was married to the man who had killed him. She couldn't pretend the wedding hadn't taken place, it was there in the records, in a book with marble-edged leaves. She couldn't pretend it hadn't been her husband who killed him, not with those slashes to his cheeks.

Getting away from the Castle, going into hiding, was her only option. If she stayed here, she'd be dead inside a week. Damnit, why hadn't she paid more attention to politics? Why hadn't she found guards who'd no real loyalty to her father and bought their loyalty to _her, _found someone other than Vizzini, someone who was really useful instead of just playing _games_ before it _mattered _and the slightest mistake would mean her death?

_Because you're a stupid thirteen year old girl,_ she heard her father's voice say in her head. _Because you were so caught up in the cleverness of your own plans you never stopped to think about what might happen if something went wrong, and now it's all gone wrong and if you'd just done what you were told like a good girl, you would have been safe._

She tucked the dagger into the belt of her dress, opened mother's jewel-box and dropped the contents down her bodice. _No I bloody wouldn't,_ she thought. _Married to Humpedinck isn't safe. If it wasn't Humpedinck it would have been someone else, and either way, you and your damned ambition, you'd enemies everywhere. Men who'd every reason to hate you and men who just envied you and just didn't dare take what was yours for themselves. With you gone, it's mine, and what can I do to stop them taking it? I can't do anything because as you pointed out I'm just a __**girl. **_

The mental argument with her late father kept her from panicking. Panicking wouldn't help. She looked out of a window. Four horses, disappearing into the distance, the guards in turmoil. She ran down to the gate. So, she thought as she ran, he wasn't alone. She'd heard the bit about Westley coming to get Buttercup, so presumably that was two of them, except, she'd guessed that it was this Westley chap who Daddy had been torturing. If it had been, and he'd escaped somehow, then that would have explained his mood. So, Inigo, Westley, Buttercup, and a fourth one, that must be this pirate Westley had sailed with.

Except pirates didn't tend to go around rescuing each other, so something wasn't right there. _Worry about that later_, she thought. _Big problems first, details later._

"Yellin!" she called, "Yellin!" He turned, looking relieved.

"Betha, my dear... what are your father's instructions? What do I do?"

_Just as well I wasn't relying on you, then,_ she thought. _They're getting away. You send one group of men to find the Prince, and another to ride after **them**, you don't stand about in a dither because nobody's giving you orders!! _

"No instructions. He's dead."

"D...dead? Are you sure?"

"Well he's laid on the floor of the great hall in a pool of blood with his eyes open and no pulse," she yelled hysterically, "Of course I'm sure! You have to get him to Miracle Max before it's too late!"

There was nothing could be done, she knew that, but as she'd expected, Yellin grabbed two guards and ran off towards the great hall. Someone had given him an order, and even if it was only her, he'd obey like a dog. You couldn't rely on a man like that. He'd always obey the biggest dog in the pack, he could never be the biggest dog himself. She made as though to follow, but then suddenly turned off, towards the stables. They'd taken the four whites, which was stupid, because everyone knew white horses weren't quick, and besides, white horses at night? They'd stand out a mile.

She threw a saddle onto her father's horse. Humpedinck's was in the next stall, and it was faster, but the damn animal was insane, only the Prince had ever been able to ride it. Her father's horse, though, was nearly as fast, and more importantly, it would carry a side-saddle. She'd ridden the horse before, it knew her. Anyway, it was her horse now.

She dragged over a mounting block, got settled, and headed out. By the time she was passing through the castle gates, she was going at a full gallop and the guards scattered out of her way like skittles.

She wasn't use to riding at a gallop, or riding at night, but she'd seen them, and they had to have some sort of escape plan. She held on for dear life, swearing under her breath, hoping the horse's night-vision was better than hers, because she could barely see a thing. She had to catch them, she'd not be safe on her own. With them, she only had to worry about the group being caught, or turning on her. Alone, she stood a good chance of falling foul of robbers, or worse. The thieves forest had been cleared, but not all of them were stupid enough to just let themselves be rounded up, some of them would have made a run for it straight away and realised that with all the guards on the castle, the surrounding countryside was an open hunting-ground.

She was gaining, but then they'd taken a fork in the road and damnit, why _that_ way, the horses would be useless in such dense forest. Wait, though. The old cottage, the one nobody dared go near because of the witch who'd lived there. She'd been burned when Betha was tiny, and that was something she'd never forget. Mother had been holding her in her arms, and she'd been able to feel the heat of the fire, and smell it, but couldn't see it because Mother was holding her the wrong way round, and all she could see was Mother's shoulder, and her hair, and the ruby earrings. Mother had said "She's innocent, of course," and Father had shushed her. That was all she remembered, and it was her only memory of her mother.

If the woman _hadn't_ been a witch, though, then her cottage was a good place to hide. Nobody would dare to look there, the guards were peasants, and peasants were superstitious. They'd see it and cross themselves and move on. She hit the forest and slowed, and there they were.

* * *

Fezzik had somehow ended up in the lead, and let his horse choose the path, and it had gone into the forest. The _Revenge _couldn't be reached from the forest. Westley would have said something, but already he was starting to lose his grip on consciousness. The world had gone an interesting shade of pink around the edges, green lights flashed before his eyes, and then everything else had lurched sort of sideways before it all faded to deep red. Buttercup saw him starting to slip from his horse and turned, and that made her horse miss it's footing and throw a shoe. Inigo had turned at that, forgetting his wound, and as he'd turned his body, the wound had torn open again and begun to bleed even more.

_I'm a dead man_, he thought. _I've seen wounds like this before, but I've never known a man who survived one._ _It might be a couple of hours from the blood loss, it might be a matter of days when the fever set in. Either way, I'm dead_. All he could do was try to help the others. They at least had a chance. He needed both hands free, though. He took off his shirt and tied it round his waist as best he could, and slipped down from his horse.

He checked Westley. Unconscious but alive.

Then he stopped to listen. Hooves. Lots of hooves. They'd have to get off the road, that much was certain.

"Fezzik," he called, "He's still alive, but we'll have to walk. Can you carry him?"

The giant nodded. "Then take him, Buttercup, you take the lead."

The sound of hooves got louder. "Inigo?"

"Just go. Maybe I can slow them down."

"But Inigo..."

"No buts, Fezzik, I'm dying. And don't you dare cry. The Princess needs you to be strong."

"You were a good friend, Inigo."

"You too Fezzik. And we did have fun storming the castle, no?"

The giant nodded and lumbered off after Buttercup, carrying Westley in his arms.


	6. Chapter 6

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 6**_

Inigo stood, listening to the horses approach. He was starting to get dizzy, and just had to hope that he could last long enough to do be of use through sheer force of will. He could hear lots of horses, but see only one coming along the path, and that was wrong, wasn't it? Wasn't it usually the other way round? Maybe the others were hiding in that fog that was creeping in from the sides.

The horse he could see slowed and sneezed, and then there was a chorus of equine sneezes.

_I know people can be allergic to horses,_ he thought, _Can horses be allergic to people?_

"Hello," he told the piece of darkness the horse and rider had become, "My name is Inigo Montoya."

"I know who you bloody are," it snapped, and other voices... no, it was an echo. Inigo wondered why the rider was swaying like that, then realised it was him. The voice had been familiar, somehow...

She slipped down from the horse – oh, yes, that was it, he'd got married hadn't he – and started to walk over. Someone was coming after them. He raised his sword.

"Inigo, don't be silly," she said, "You need help. Where are the others?"

"I need to stay here," he protested, "Protect them."

"Nobody's coming from the Castle, they're all in a panic because you killed the man who commanded them," she told him. "Now come on, youneed _help_."

She ducked under his sword-arm and planted herself in his armpit, taking his weight. _God, how could someone so skinny be so heavy?_ turned him and pointed him up the other way. He didn't have the strength to stop her. "Which way did they go?" she demanded. His head hit her shoulder, and he groaned.

Oh well, the cottage then, and just hope that's where the others had gone.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Buttercup," Fezzik said. She'd climbed onto his back after a couple of minutes, her silk slippers torn to shreds by the sharp stones. "Everywhere looks the same."

They'd definitely come in a circle, though, unless there were _two_ trees with knots that looked so horribly much like a screaming face. Westley groaned and moved his head, and Fezzik shrugged. It had worked before. He headed off in the direction the unconscious man had nodded.

Up ahead, Buttercup had been sure she'd seen something move, but she didn't say anything. The confidence she'd had when she'd yelled at the gate guards to let them through because she was the _Queen_ had evaporated, and she was terrified.

She saw it again, closer this time, a hunched, shuffling monster, coming straight for them.

"Go left, Fezzik," she whispered, and he obeyed her. She looked round, she couldn't see the monster any more. Good, it hadn't seen them. Fezzik headed on, slowly but surely through the dark forest with Buttercup whispering occasional instructions, more through wanting to feel like she was doing something than any real choice of heading. There was something there, ahead, something big and solid and dark and foreboding. A twig snapped, and she jumped. That had been closer. The monster was gaining. She could hear it groaning now.

"Faster, Fezzik,"

"I need a _drink_," the monster complained.

Fezzik's head snapped round, or at least, the movement was quick for Fezzik. Had he heard...

"You _need_ to lose weight," it replied to itself in another voice.

Fezzik stopped, staring.

"'s no' my faul' you so weak," Inigo protested.

"It's not too late for me to leave you to die, you know," the other voice pointed out. "But I can see the cottage, now, and I don't want your corpse littering the view in the morning."

"Nice to know you care," he said acidly. "Perhaps you moan about me getting blood on your dress next?"

_Oh,_ Buttercup thought. _I didn't know Inigo was married._ The woman's voice was familiar, though she couldn't quite place it. Nobody but married couples argued like that, though.

"Inigo!" Fezzik said happily.

"Hello." He managed a small wave. He seemed drunk.

"Where are the Castle guards?"

"Not coming," the woman said, "At least, not yet. Come on."

Fezzik followed and slowly the foreboding shape resolved itself into a house. No, not a house. It was a witch's cottage. No two walls lined up, the windows weren't square, the roof sagged in the middle and there was a small tree growing out of the thatch. The twisted chimney was at such an alarming angle that it made you want to turn your head because it couldn't possibly have supported itself, and the patch of plants around it looked like they were carnivorous, and watching.

"You want us to go in there?" Buttercup squeaked.

The woman didn't answer, she just shuffled up to the door and pushed it open with her foot.

"I don't suppose anyone has any matches, do they?"

Inigo murmured something that sounded like "bossy ol'".

"Yes, alright, I'm bossy," she snapped, "But less of the old,"

"Bosillo," Inigo repeated. "Thing. On my trousers."

"Oh. Pocket. Buttercup, would you? I'm sort of stuck holding him..."

Buttercup scrambled down, apologised to Westley's unconscious form, and went through Inigo's trouser pockets. String, a bottle top, eek, ah, matches. She struck one, stepped into the cottage and looked round. How strange. She yelped as it burned down to her fingers, then quickly struck another, and used it to light the oil lamp on the table.

The others stepped into the light, and she closed the door and hurried round drawing the curtains. Fezzik settled Westley into an armchair then helped Betha get Inigo laid on the sofa. There was a fire already laid in the grate, and a tin of firelighters next to it. Betha lit one from the lamp, and got the fire going while Buttercup lit the rest of the lamps.

The room was cosy, or at least it would be once the fire had warmed it, with mismatched and overstuffed floral chairs arranged round the fire, and a painting of a woodland stream over it; a dining table with a vase of long-dead flowers and frilly cushions on all the chairs; an iron stove in the far corner, next to the stone sink and cupboards next to that with jars hand-labelled "flour" "tea" and "sugar" ; shelves full of nick-nacks and ornaments, and a welsh dresser with dutch plates and bowls and cups on it; a besom stood in the corner, next to a cupboard with a jar of pickled frogs on top. _Oh._

Now, you may be wondering what the problem with witches was, considering Miracle Max and Valerie were so accepted as to have once worked for the King, but they were right there, in the town, where everyone could see them and people were less inclined to think that if their cow got sick it was because of that old woman with a hairy wart and eyes that didn't look in the same direction, the one who smelt funny and swore at children who'd been throwing stones at her cat.

Betha had seen the cupboard with the pickled frogs, and thought, _Jackpot_. Buttercup on the other hand, had just properly seen Betha for the first time as she headed for the frog-topped cupboard, recognised her, and thought _Westley! _Westley would know what to do about this.

"Don't suppose any of you know anything about medicine, do you?" Betha asked, turning from the array of jars. "It's just, they're all labelled, but with what they _are, _not what they're _for."_

Fezzik and Buttercup shook their heads.

"I need a drink," Inigo moaned. Fezzik, meaning well and needing to do_ something, _went and put the kettle on. He opened the tea jar and not knowing where the spoons were, shook the tin of leaves straight into the pot. A small jar fell out, bounced off the pot and rolled across the floor to Buttercup.

"Max's Miracle Salts," she read, picking it up. "For emergency use only. Keep away from naked flames."

Carefully, she opened the jar under Westley's nose, and at once his eyes shot open. "Oh, Westley!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms.

Inigo coughed and fresh blood flooded out to soak his shirt, and he laughed, drifting into delirium. Fezzik didn't want to see, so he turned back to making the tea. Sweet tea, that's what you gave to people who were sick. He poured sugar into the cup, but this time nothing fell out. _Please work,_ he thought. _Please help Inigo too, _and shook the jar harder. Inigo's tea was going to be the strongest, sweetest tea in history. Left alone, it might have got up and walked away.

Betha had seen Inigo's cough too, and seen more than Fezzik had. She'd seen the blood on his lips. The jars in the cupboard had seemed to be just _herbs_ not even any particularly rare ones. Well, if the herbs were in the frog cupboard, maybe there was something in the kitchen cupboards.

Pickled eggs, a tin of shortbread with a picture of a dog on it, more jam than any normal person could possibly want – all of it mouldy – and a box of chocolate liqueurs. She slammed the door in frustration, and Fezzik flinched as he poured the tea. Betha didn't do scared or worried or upset, she just got angry. Angry at things for not being the way they were supposed to be, and she would shout and rage at them until they _were_ how they were supposed to be, and if they didn't change, she'd get angry at herself, then at everyone around her until they did something about it or until she snapped and burst into tears.

"Here you go, Inigo," the giant said helping his friend up so he could drink the tea.

"Thank you, Fezzik," he murmured. "Not what I meant, but thank you."

"Here," Betha snapped, grabbing the box of liqueurs from the cupboard. "See if you can get drunk on these, you've probably lost enough blood," and threw them at Inigo. It hadn't been difficult, as they'd made their way through the forest, to work out that the man was a drunk. Three times he'd asked her if she carried a hip-flask.

He smiled as he opened the box. They were the expensive sort, with patterns on them in lighter or darker chocolate, and a piece of paper that told you what each of them held. Inigo tried to look at the paper, because he wanted to be sure to pick the best one, but the words wouldn't stay still.

Buttercup stared at Betha, and she glowered back.

"What? He's dead anyway, let him have a little luxury before he dies."

Inigo lifted the box right up to his face, and closed one eye. No good. He still couldn't seem to read it. Oh well. He took out the largest of the chocolates, popped it into his mouth and leaned back as he bit down and brandy flooded his mouth. He'd picked the right one.

He tried to lift his arm, to offer the chocolates around, but couldn't seem to do it and they fell on the floor, rolling in all directions as his eyes fluttered closed and he stopped breathing.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's note:** I am really sorry about leaving the story at that evil cliff-hanger, I didn't intend to but I nodded off, and then we had several hours of unexpected guests drinking all my beer. It's at times like that I wish I could still claim I had homework to be doing. After all that I'd lost the thread of things a bit and it took me a while to get going again. _

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 7**_

"Inigo?" Fezzik whispered, and sat down on the floor next to him. "You haven't finished your tea, Inigo, it's getting cold..." He wasn't going to cry. Inigo had told him not to cry.

Betha, on the other hand, had nearly run out of angry, and flopped down onto one of the chairs at the table muttering.

"Stupid man, getting himself stabbed. Stupid _stupid_ cottage, stupid girl not stopping for any stupid miracles..." she didn't want to cry. She never cried in front of anyone, she always went off somewhere private before she got to this stage, but there was no stopping it. "It's not _fair._" she wailed, and began to sob with her head on her arms.

"Life isn't fair," Buttercup murmured.

"Oh shut up," Betha sniffed. "This is all your fault anyway. If you hadn't had to go around being so beautiful none of this would have happened. Humpedinck wouldn't have thought about having a Florinese wife, Daddy wouldn't have suggested me as a replacement for when you were dead, he wouldn't have hired Vizzini and _he_ wouldn't have hired Inigo and I wouldn't have had to marry him to get out of marrying Humpedinck and he wouldn't have been in the castle if you hadn't been there to need rescuing and Daddy wouldn't be dead and I wouldn't have to worry that everyone who was loyal to him would think I'd planned it all and want me dead and everyone who wasn't wouldn't want me out of the way so they could have his money and his power and Inigo wouldn't be dead so I wouldn't have to marry Humpedinck anyway if nobody kills me and I'd not be in this stupid cottage with no idea what to do."

She ran out of breath and started hiccuping.

"Finished?" Westley asked. "Well that answered most of the questions I was going to ask, though it's raised several more... You're Count Rugen's daughter?"

She nodded, still sniffing and hiccuping, but having at least stopped crying. "I assume you didn't know about Inigo's quest?"

"Well, not exactly. I knew he was looking for the man who'd killed his father but I didn't know it was Daddy. The way he was talking I thought he'd be off searching the world and I'd just have to give him the money to finance it and take a few beatings from Daddy for messing up his plans. I suppose even that was a bit stupid. Daddy probably only looked after me because I could be useful, so once I wasn't..."

"You really didn't think things through, did you?"

"I'm a girl, we're not exactly encouraged to think, but I _thought _my father cared about me. I _thought_ I'd have time to buy the loyalty of some of the guards before I needed it; and I thought a peasant husband wouldn't dare order me about and he'd keep me safe because I held the purse strings. I should have realised nothing is ever that simple. Anyway, he had his shirt off, how am I supposed to think straight when he's standing there half naked and smiling at me? I thought I just had to offer him money and everything would be alright. "

"Offer me money," Inigo said dreamily. Four heads turned to look at him. Dead people weren't supposed to start talking.

"Did he just..." Westley asked, looking between the others, but Inigo cut him off.

"Power too, offer me that."

Betha leapt out of her chair towards him, slipped on the paper from the chocolate box and landed at his feet. He opened his eyes and looked down at her.

"Hello," he said, "My name is Inigo Montoya. I killed your father. I'm prepared to die." his eyes slid shut again, and his head dropped sideways. He began to snore, loudly.

"I think we can assume he's not dead, then," Westley said, putting Buttercup aside so he could pick up the paper from the chocolates. "Miracle pills," he said. "Lucky he didn't pick the cure for athlete's foot."

Fezzik reached out and touched Inigo's shoulder. Blood, lots of blood, but it was all dried and flaked away at his touch. He wasn't cold. Dead people got cold, didn't they?

"Inigo? Inigo are you alright?"

"Let him sleep," Westley said. "He's rescued me, had me brought back to life, stormed the castle, rescued a princess, killed a count, ridden what feels like halfway across Florin with a nasty wound and been at least a bit dead himself, he'll need the rest."

"That's a lot, for a man with a hangover," Fezzik agreed. Buttercup tried to stifle a yawn, but couldn't.

"We should _all_ sleep. Buttercup, dearest, why don't you and Fezzik go and see if there are any blankets?" Betha didn't see why it took both of them until Westley spoke to her.

"I take it you know I'll have no problem killing you if I think you're a danger to us?"

"You'd probably be doing me a favour," she sighed. "At least then I wouldn't be so... so _lost._ I doubt I could go back to the castle, I just don't know if I can trust anyone there, but if I don't go back... well I don't know if Inigo will want to stay married to me, and on my own I doubt I'd be any better off than in the castle."

"The world isn't entirely peopled with criminals, you know. There aren't murderers lurking around every corner."

"There are other things for a woman to worry about. Anyway, I don't know how to make any money."

"What's inside your dress should provide for you for a time."

"How _dare_ you! You'd not talk to your precious Princess like that."

"Unless you have very oddly shaped ribs, Countess, there's something in that bodice with you and I'm guessing it's quite valuable."

She blushed. "Oh, you meant Mother's jewelery. I'd forgotten about that... I wouldn't know where to sell it or what a fair price would be though."

"One thing at a time, hmm? We've got to get away from here, first. Remember what I said, though. I'll be watching you."

"And I'll be watching you, too, pirate."

Westley bowed as theatrically as he could while seated, the effect of which was spoiled somewhat by a scream from upstairs. Westley struggled to stand and failed, but Betha had grabbed the first thing to hand and run towards the stairs.

"It's alright!" Buttercup called before she reached them. "It's just a little house spider!"

"It's not _little!" _Fezzik protested.

_Interesting_, Westley thought and pretended not to watch the Countess slink back to the table to put the vase back. _And she thinks I wasn't worried._

Inigo snorted and shifted in the chair, then began snoring again.

"I should get him cleaned up," Betha said filling a bowl with warm water. "I suppose that's the sort of thing a peasant's wife has to do."

She'd just started dabbing the blood off his shoulder when Fezzik and Buttercup came down with the bedding and shared it out. It was a little moth-eaten, but it would do. Betha had to replace the water and rinse the cloth several times, and when she'd been carefully unsticking his ruined shirt Inigo had blindly swiped at her, but he hadn't woken up. All that was left of the wounds were three tiny pale scars, nothing compared to the ones on his cheeks. Barely noticeable unless you were looking for them.

Suddenly, Betha realised she was looking at his bare chest again and hurriedly tucked a blanket round him, blushing.

"There's a bed upstairs if you want it, Countess." Buttercup told her.

"I'd rather stay down here."

"You don't like spiders either, hmm?"

"I'd just rather not be alone."

Inigo shifted again and kicked the blanket off. Betha put it back, scowling and dashed off up the stairs.

"Prudish little thing, isn't she?" Westley commented as he arranged the blanket around himself and Buttercup. His legs would probably be numb by morning, but it was a small price to pay to have her with him.

"I don't think she's ever seen any other man with his shirt off. It's not like you can see any farms from the Castle."

"Well, no, but paintings..."

"That's different, that's art."

Betha came back carrying a pillow, and wedged it behind Inigo's head. He snuggled into it contentedly.

"Now stay _still._" she grumped, and looked around. Fezzik was already dozing in one chair, Westley and Buttercup in the other, Inigo on the sofa, which meant she was going to have to share it with him. She put out the lamps, took the last blanket and curled up as far from him as she could.

It wasn't cold now the fire had got going, and the sofa wasn't the worst place she'd slept, but Betha couldn't sleep. She couldn't understand how any of them could. The shadows jumped and danced in the firelight and she kept thinking she'd seen things move, or heard someone outside. They'd had to let the horses go, and all she could think was that they'd go back to the castle and bring Humpedinck straight to them.

The cottage had to be enchanted, they'd been too impossibly lucky, especially with the chocolates. It seemed that someone was still living here, so where were they? Out running to the Prince to turn them in? She wanted to cry again, but tears only ever seemed to come after she'd been angry.

Somehow, the sound of Inigo's snoring was comforting, though, and eventually she started to nod off.


	8. Chapter 8

_**The Countess Cliché, Chapter 8**_

The first thing Betha was aware of as she woke was the smell of bacon. The second thing was that a woman was humming quietly, and that's what catapulted her from a deep and contented sleep and had her on her feet in a second, because it was far too deep to have been Buttercup that was humming.

"Ah, you're awake dearie," said the woman who was pottering around the kitchen. "I thought you'd be up soon, so I thought I'd get a start on breakfast. Be a dear and bring me the plates, will you? How do you like your eggs, by the way?"

Betha stepped back, tripped over Westley's foot, danced a little, windmilling her arms and then landed on Fezzik. _That's one way to wake them up_, she thought as she disentangled herself from the startled giant. Betha wasn't normally clumsy, it was just that she wasn't used to having to look where she was putting her feet indoors. Rooms in the castle were larger, and kept tidy by an army of servants, so there was nothing to trip over.

"On second thoughts, perhaps someone else should bring me the plates..." She was a round-faced, cheerful looking old woman with her white hair in the sort of cottage loaf style which only old ladies ever have.

"If you don't mind me asking," Westley said as he carried over the plates, dealing with the shock rather better than Betha and feeling a great deal stronger after his sleep. "Who exactly are you?"

"Oh, I thought you knew, seeing as you'd let yourselves in. My name's Gertrude, I'm a fairy godmother, and this is my cottage."

"Well, thank you for your hospitality," Westley said, "We're terribly sorry to have intruded, but the door was open and we were a little desperate."

"Oh, not at all dear, not at all. You'd not have been able to get in _here _unless you deserved it and I don't think I've had guests since I moved here."

"Well in any case we should pay you for these marvellous smelling salts, and the chocolates... Our snoring friend had one and dropped the rest, I'm afraid."

"Oh never mind, the rest of them were just for show anyway. The mice will clear them up, I'm sure. Now, how did you want your eggs?"

Still somewhat shocked by the owner's arrival, the group sat down to breakfast. The old woman counted the plates – 6 – and the people at the table – 5 – looked confused for a moment, then clicked her fingers. Inigo, apparently still fast asleep, got up and joined them. Eyes still closed, he picked up his cutlery and started to eat. Betha was relieved that he'd sat on the far side of Fezzik so she couldn't really see him. His bare chest was disconcerting enough without being able to see him eating blind.

"There," Gertrude said, "That's better. He needs a good meal inside him, but the poor dear needs his sleep too. Everyone else is well, I trust? I didn't overcook the bacon did I?"

They all agreed that they were fine, and that the bacon was perfect. "We really ought to give you something for the things we've had," Betha said uneasily. She had a suspicion that bad things tended to happen to people who didn't pay people who could do magic.

"Well... I'm retired, but if you insist, my dear, I'd quite like those lovely ruby earrings."

Betha turned around and fished about in her bodice for them before it occurred to her that even she wasn't sure what jewellery was wedged between her stays and her stomacher. The first thing that came out was, of course, the ruby earrings, tangled together. She handed them over, and the old woman put them on. Had her dress been that shade of red before? She'd been sure it was brown...

"Thank you, dear. The rest of it you should get a good price for, but these, I'm afraid, are only paste. Even so, I remember admiring them when I first came here to stand in for poor old Mrs Miggins."

"Mrs Miggins?" Buttercup said with a frown, remembering the name. "Wasn't she the..."

"The old charcoal burner someone _accused_ of being a witch, yes dear. You can't actually burn a real witch, but we can make it look an awful lot like you can. I took over her cottage, pretended to be her for a while and we shuffled her off somewhere else. Disgusting business, burning harmless little old ladies. Once people start doing that, you need to start keeping an eye on things."

"Surely you're a little isolated for that?" Betha asked.

"Oh, I get around, dear, I get around. That's why I was so late getting home last night, I got caught up in all that nonsense up at the castle, and I only went to take that nice old Lotharon his tea. That new miracle worker has told them to stop feeding him, it's no wonder he's not well."

"He _is_ ninety-seven," Betha protested.

"So?" Gertrude snapped, "I'll not see 140 again."

"To be fair, madam," Westley pointed out, "You are something of a special case."

Inigo finished his breakfast and burped loudly. Betha winced. If he was going to be a nobleman, he was going to have to learn proper mealtime etiquette. Gertrude snapped her fingers again, and he went back to the sofa and curled up. Betha sighed in relief that this time he hadn't started... snoring. Damn. She'd just have to get used to sleeping with that noise coming from the next room. Married nobles didn't tend to share the same bed, even the ones that did get on well.

She realised that she was still thinking about going home, and probably couldn't, but at least she knew how to think about home. She'd never really paid much attention to the way the common people lived, so she'd not really got any idea about what to do or how to do it. It hadn't really occurred to her, either, that their lives were not so governed by proper protocol and etiquette, she 'd just assumed that theirs was different. Would she have to learn to burp like Inigo after meals? The others hadn't done it, but perhaps it was Spanish custom? Would he want to take her to Spain?

She didn't know much about Spain, either. He was the only Spaniard she'd ever met. Buttercup, living in the town, had met all sorts of traders and sailors and vagrants. She'd never paid much attention to them, but she had picked up a few nuggets of knowledge from other people locally. The limit of Betha's knowledge of Spain was having seen portraits of the higher nobles so she'd recognise them if they ever visited – which they never did, Humpedinck didn't encourage people to just drop in – and being vaguely aware that it was warmer than Florin.

"How long is Inigo going to sleep?" Betha asked, "It's just... it's going to be a little difficult to leave with him like that..."

"I could carry him," Fezzik said, "I'd barely notice one person."

"Better stay here so I can keep an eye on him, dear. You don't want him relapsing the way Westley did."

"I didn't tell you my name," Westley said.

"You didn't have to. I keep an eye on things, as I said. Anyway, he'll wake up some time tomorrow, I'd think, maybe sooner, he seems a strong sort. Will you all be staying together, or will you be going on alone?"

Westley considered. "I did suggest that Inigo sail with me, he's quite a good sailor, and a man as strong as Fezzik would certainly be useful. It's just..."

"Women are bad luck, on ships." Betha said, pushing the last of her eggs around the plate.

"More for them than the ship, really... Buttercup would be safe enough, the crew would know better than to bother the Captain's woman, but you..."

Betha nodded. "They're pirates. I understand." Westley's meaning was clear. She shouldn't expect Inigo to protect her, and the pirate certainly wasn't going to bother.

"Wait a minute... Captain?"

"I'm the Dread Pirate Roberts."

"Oh," she said, starting to wonder if Buttercup was actually any better off now. "That explains a lot."

"Anyway," he said, "I don't think we should decide until Inigo wakes up."

They ended up spending the morning playing board games with the old woman. Betha couldn't help finding the whole thing bizarre. They were all in danger of their lives, and yet here they were playing like children, as though they had nothing at all to worry about. It was just all too easy to go along with anything the old woman suggested. She'd even washed up the breakfast things, though Buttercup had had to show her how.

Fezzik was extremely unlucky at snakes and ladders, and Betha was sure Westley had been cheating, she just couldn't work out _how._ When Westley had won the third game in a row, Gertrude suggested that it was time to start lunch and showed Betha how to prepare the vegetables. The knife wasn't very sharp, and it made her arm hurt, but she wouldn't have dreamed of saying anything. It would have felt like admitting to being weak as well as silly.

She'd just finished cutting up the carrots and was about to ask what she should do next when Inigo woke with a deep yawn and a stretch that set off an unpleasant range of cracking noises from his spine. He threw off the blanket and looked down at his side, then prodded it experimentally.

"How are you feeling, dear?"

"Very well, thank you... better than I have in years. Uh... I don't suppose my shirt..."

"It was ruined." Betha said, looking at the floor. "Covered in blood and more than a little torn."

"Oh. I don't suppose..." he stopped as the old woman produced a shirt from under her pinny. It fit perfectly, and it was a nice shirt. His last one hadn't been white for years. This one was a pearly white, silk rather than linen, and it had frills on the front. He'd only ever been able to afford a plain shirt. This was the sort of shirt a pirate would wear.

"Have you thought any more about my offer?" Westley asked him.

"Now, now," the old woman said, "He's just woken up, leave him be for a while. Anyway, lunch is nearly ready."

They chatted while they ate. Betha mostly stayed silent and Inigo glanced at her occasionally, but she didn't look back, just kept pushing her stew around the bowl so he ignored her, and considered his choices. He could become Roberts. He would be a good pirate, he knew that. He'd never killed in anger, but he'd never thought much about the men he'd killed in defending himself or under Vizzini's orders. Piracy would just mean that he got to keep more of the money himself.

But then there was Betha. He could have hated her for who her father had been, and she should have hated him for killing her father, but she clearly didn't. He was fairly sure she liked him. Not just liked him but _liked _liked, or would if she could get past blushing all the time. Even so, he'd killed her father, and taken away her only protection. He was all she had. She couldn't afford to hate him. She probably couldn't afford much of anything with what she had shoved down her bodice...

Which left him having to provide for her. Which was only right, he supposed, considering she _was_ his wife, and wouldn't have needed to be provided for if he'd not killed her father. Rugen should have thought of that before he killed _his _father. Except Betha hadn't been born then. Inigo's head was spinning. He was more or less an honourable man, and looking after Betha felt like the right thing to do. Thinking about why it was or wasn't was making his head hurt, so he stopped.

That just left how to go about looking after her. Piracy was certainly the easiest way to get a lot of money, but it wasn't exactly the safest profession ever. He'd welcome the chance to spar with Westley more, it was the only challenge he'd had in years, but Westley wouldn't be around long, and then it would be back to boredom, and there was always the chance of canon shot or shipwreck. He'd been shipwrecked once before, and it wasn't an experience he'd care to repeat. He didn't much like swimming.

Then there was the matter of Betha. A girl who blushed at the sight of her husband's chest wasn't going to be happy around a bunch of sailors, especially if she could understand the words to their songs. But if he didn't take her with him he'd not be able to keep her safe. So, piracy was out. What did that leave?

Suddenly, Inigo smiled. He knew exactly what he should do.


	9. Chapter 9

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 9**_

Inigo's skill with the sword was his greatness, true – but it was also his undoing. Put simply, it was all too easy for him. Nobody challenged him, and when he wasn't challenged, he drank. Oh, true, Westley had challenged him – beaten him, even – but now he could see his mistakes, clear as day. Of course, the drink had helped. He'd not been training, not as hard as he used to.

He needed to be challenged. Oh, Fezzik would stop him drinking, sure enough, and he appreciated the giant's friendship, but it just wasn't enough. Even Vizzini's orders had, usually, been trifling matters for him – that had been why he'd started against Westley left-handed. The conclusion he had reached was this:

What better challenge could there be for him than keeping Betha alive right here in Florin?

Not in the castle, that would be foolishness even with his skill, but there had to be a Rugen family home. Let her retreat there for a time, with him and Fezzik guarding her. He had always cooked for his father, for himself, for the Sicilian Crowd. He would cook for her, and she would be sure her food was not poisoned, and physical attacks? They would be nothing with both him and Fezzik at her side.

Humpedinck, he was sure, would find another wife, and perhaps he would find another man to plot and scheme and torture for him as Rugen had. Let him. Let Florin's lesser nobles fight amongst themselves for the Prince's trust, and let Betha step back from that, distance herself from the deadly games.

True, the Florinese had made Buttercup a Princess, but to do so they had made Hammersmith an independent country, Vizzini had explained that once. Less than a mile square, and with no residents, who cared about that? She was not a Florinese noble, as she had not married Humpedinck. Let her run, with Westley, if they would take their chances alone. He didn't think either of them was interested in ruling Florin.

He suspected that what Betha considered her big mistake – marrying him – would actually work out to her benefit. Humpedinck had led the people to believe that he loved Buttercup. Why could Betha not do the same with him? Let people think she was a stupid, impetuous girl, more interested in her peasant lover than in taking any power for herself.

What threat could they really think she was to them? She'd said often enough, she was just a girl. True, she was the highest ranking noble in the country next to the prince, but killing her wouldn't give them her title, and once it was clear that she had no influence with the Prince, they would realise she held no power and was useless to them.

He spoke to Westley first, as he still thought of the Man in Black as the great strategitian, and then he spoke to Betha, and then they all spoke together. It hadn't occurred to Betha that she could take a step back from what her father had been to the Prince and still remain a noble, still keep her riches. The truth was, nobody had even thought of her in order to notice that she, too, was missing.

It would be dangerous for a time – just getting across the country to the Rugen home, which was in a remote northern corner of the country, would be dangerous, but once the other nobles realised she hadn't her father's thirst for power, they would be too busy fighting amongst themselves and trying to impress Humpedinck to worry about her. She had thought of how lost _she_ was without her father, but what of Humpedinck? He had lost his right-hand man, and had no replacement. She, at least, had Inigo and Fezzik.

That just left Westley and Buttercup to get to the _Revenge_, but Westley had been thinking, too, and he had a plan. They stayed a few more days with the Fairy Godmother, who brought them news from the city. Yellin had spoken to the King in secret and told him what Humpedinck had done. The shock had killed the old man, and Yellin, who would be the first to admit he was an abject coward, had fled.

Humpedinck was not only dealing with the loss of Rugen and his spymaster Yellin, and of his popularity as the rumours spread, but with his father's funeral and his new duties as King. He hadn't a moment to spare for runaway girls, either of them.

The two groups had bid farewell to the Fairy Godmother, and set off in opposite directions. The armada had chased the _Revenge_ away, but as soon as it was clear that the country was in turmoil it had returned, and Westley and Buttercup made their way to it. The journey was not uneventful, but they arrived safe and were soon far from Florin, which is where we will leave them for now.

Inigo, Fezzik and Betha made their way along to the coast on foot, and while Fezzik and Betha sat making rhymes by their camp fire Inigo walked into town with one of Betha's necklaces and traded it for cash. He didn't think he'd got the best possible price, but it was enough for them to hire a simple coach – the only one the town had – and make their way north, staying in the sort of inns Betha had visited with her father.

In less than a week – for Florin was not a large country – they were at the Rugen home. Betha simply swept in and started giving orders, and everyone simply assumed that she had chosen to leave the castle because of her father's death. What was to keep her there now? What did it matter that she had never lived here?

Inigo and Fezzik were measured for new clothes and given rooms, and in Fezzik's case an impressive-sounding job title. Over the next year or so, they developed a routine. What local men showed some ability with a sword were trained by Inigo, the stronger of those who had none by Fezzik and between them they ensured that Betha was hardly ever alone. One might expect that a girl who has just turned fifteen and lived most of her life all but ignored by all around her would find this bothersome, but she didn't. It was a novelty for her to be the center of attention.

The challenge Inigo had expected to face in keeping her alive failed to materialise, but he found that he enjoyed teaching. In attempting to discover who _might_ be against her, Betha discovered a flair for entertaining and they had guests more often than not. For fun as much as to assess their abilities, Inigo would spar with whatever noblemen were visiting, and soon, masters of the sword were visiting purely to fight him and _there_ he had the challenge he wanted.

True, no visitor had yet beaten him, but some at least entertained him. Humpedinck, not being much one for social calls even before he had become King, all but forgot Betha's existence. Fezzik, too, found contentment at Betha's home, in setting up the world's first workplace creche. When Betha's favourite cook said she had to leave because her eldest daughter was getting married and could no longer look after her youngest, it had been Fezzik who suggested she just bring the child with her.

He hadn't meant that he would look after the toddler, he hadn't thought that far, but Betha assumed he had. Watch Betha, watch the child, where was the difference? They soon found that Fezzik was, simply, wonderful with children. Within a month, he was watching over ten of them. Around Fezzik there were no fights, no tears, and Mummy was always nearby, just in case.

Even if Inigo did have a room next to Betha's, every bit as fine as hers, it wasn't really a marriage they settled into. Fezzik's room was the other side, and if asked, Betha would always say it was purely because it was the only room in the place big enough to take the special bed she'd had made for Fezzik. That much was true, but mostly it was that she liked to have them close.

While Betha was starting to fill out into a more womanly figure, she still vaguely reminded Inigo of a bird of prey, and if she wasn't going to make the first move, nor was he. Oh, they'd look into each others' eyes and smile as they danced at her parties, which became much easier as she grew, and they'd take walks around the ornamental gardens hand in hand, but really all that was for show. He'd asked her about children, as he knew a noble must have an heir, but she'd said it could wait until people began to talk.

The nobles who visited had mocked her to each other at first, for marrying a commoner, especially one so much older than her, but that soon stopped. Inigo's manners were impeccable – Betha had put a lot of effort into that – and while nobles tended to speak French amongst themselves and he managed that without problem, he nearly always greeted foreigners in their own language.

Then there was his skill with the sword, that demanded respect from the men, and his dancing from the women. Betha loved to dance, and with Inigo, she seemed to be good at it. With any other partner, though, she seemed to lose all co-ordination. She would step forward when she should have stepped back, or left instead of right, tread on feet and generally make a mess of things.

Inigo had never been officially granted a rank, but people started to refer to him as the Count. At first, Betha would correct them, but it made no difference. Inigo made no secret of having killed Rugen, and never tired of telling his tale to their guests, from Domingo's murder, through meeting Betha to his final revenge.

Of course, the tale was changed so that rather than helping Westley rescue Buttercup, he had been hiding in the castle since before the wedding, intending to wait in Betha's chamber for her to return, so that they might spend a night together – this, in their version, being the first night when their marriage was legal beyond Rugen's ability to do anything about it. The records, amusingly, bore out that version, the Archbishop having accidentally entered the wrong date for their wedding. Making his way to Betha's room during the wedding when he thought the coast would be clear, and he'd encountered Rugen and, not realising this was his father-in-law, challenged him to a duel.

From there, he told things much as they had been until Rugen's death, when Betha found him stood over her dead father, and took him to Miracle Max who, it turned out, had been staying not far from their forest camp after the theives forest had been cleared. Max, now in her employ, was happy to go along with that and take the credit for Inigo's recovery. Fezzik he didn't mention. The men who'd guarded the gate thought they'd seen Roberts, and Fezzik was happy to keep out of things. He didn't like people being afraid of him.

Inigo was surprised that Humpedinck had not come after him – after all, it might have been Westley he really wanted, but Inigo was right there, and had killed the closest thing he'd had to a friend. That sort of thing does tend to leave a man at least a little peeved.

Oh, he hated Inigo, but he was also afraid of him. He'd tried to have him poisoned, but Inigo had survived, which made Humpedinck think that Inigo too was invulnerable to iocaine – the truth was, he just didn't touch his wine. The goblet would be poured, and occasionally he would lift it, but he never drank from it. He'd sent a swordsman, a master who was, he was assured, Rugen's equal. Inigo had disarmed him inside a minute, and never realised that the man had actually been trying to kill him.

After that, Humpedinck had given up. He simply didn't have the time to waste – especially when the pair were becoming famous for their parties. Let them waste her money on frivolities, he had more important things to worry about. He didn't dare go to war with Guilder, not without Rugen's schemes and Yellin's spies, and keeping the peace took all his attention. One day he would have time for the greatest hunt of his life, tracking down the Dread Pirate, but how could he do that when he'd not even tracked down a suitable wife yet?

So, for the next few years, things in Florin were pretty uneventful. Betha got taller and less skinny, but never less hawk-like, and they both became popular, across europe. Betha had never had much interest in travel, and her new home was so much less drafty than the castle she had no desire to visit others, not when they were so ready to come to her.

Things were settled, and as far as she knew, nobody much had commented yet on her lack of children. That mostly only happened to unpopular women anyway, she reasoned. She was contented and popular, and, best of all, nobody was trying to kill her. Of course, as soon as the Cardinales visited from Italy, her world was turned upside down.


	10. Chapter 10

_**The Countess Cliché, Chapter 10**_

Betha hadn't thought much of Inigo's bare chest since they'd moved to her family home, but now that was changing. She'd thought, before, that there was no pleasure for women in lovemaking, but she'd caught one of the skullery-maids with one of the stable-hands, and _she'd_ certainly seemed to be enjoying things. It had got her thinking, and where her thoughts had gone was that clearing.

The girl had started to cry as soon as she'd realised they had been caught, but it had been what she'd said. "You unnerstand, don' you, ma'am? 'E was jus' so 'andsome, workin' there with 'is shirt orf..." Betha had snapped out a warning to not do such things on _her _time again, and the pair had promised not to... but she was sure that as soon as she'd been out of sight they'd carried on... and she'd been tempted to sneak back to watch. A week or so later, the pair had married, and that was no doubt because the girl was expecting.

The peasants here, she'd discovered, had a rather more... practical approach to girls chastity than elsewhere for some reason. They simply didn't expect it. If a girl got pregnant, then she'd marry, presumably the man responsible, but if she didn't, well, it had just been a little fun. Marriage before children were on the cards was what nobles did, it was considered getting above yourself to do so. Betha had learned of at least one occasion where two young men had come to blows over which of them was the father of a particular child, and so who would marry the girl. Strangely, Betha thought, they both wanted to be the father.

She knew about it because they came to her to resolve the issue. She'd known what to do as soon as she saw the three. The girl was blonde, one man dark and the other as fair as the girl. She'd told them to just wait and see what the child looked like, and that had seemed to satisfy them. Of course, she'd taken the girl aside and asked if she _had _a preference, but she'd simply said that if she'd been able to choose then she'd have done so long since.

Would it really be so bad to be a mother? She'd have nannies and nurses and all manner of servants to take care of her children for her, might it not be worth it? Her own mother had paid little enough attention to her, she didn't need to be bothered by her children if she didn't want to be. True, she'd wanted to put things off as long as possible, but how much longer could she wait, really? Inigo would be 40 soon enough, and while she had plenty of time, did he? She didn't think men could get too old to have children, but she wasn't sure.

She'd bring the subject up soon, she thought. Perhaps after the ball she was hosting for the Italians. Inigo didn't drink the wine, but she did, and bringing up such a subject would be easier when she was a little tipsy. She thought about it more when she was tipsy, too. Yes, that would be perfect. She'd pretend to be feeling a little unwell and ask Inigo to help her to bed. Once they were alone...

For three days, she thought of little but what would be happening that night. She knew the mechanics of things, thought she knew well enough how to please him and while she expected some pain, she knew the alcohol would dull it. Besides, she knew that there could be a sort of pleasure in pain. She was sure there would have been a chapter on that in her father's book, but that was back in Florin Castle. She remembered well enough, though, the way she'd felt after a beating. Oh, the beating itself would be horrible, never something she would have wanted, and she'd struggle not to cry out, because her father would just hit her all the harder if she did, but after... Afterwards, her reddened skin would burn and tingle, and that wasn't exactly unpleasant. Perhaps, she thought, that's how it was for women – the pleasure came after.

Aside from that, she was aware of her body's reactions. She'd been a late developer, but now she was starting to understand the pleasure of the anticipation. Thinking about the things they would do made her blush, but it wasn't only her cheeks that tingled. She decided to put such thoughts aside the morning of the Italians' arrival, but she'd found that once she had started thinking such things, she couldn't stop thinking them. It was most vexing.

Giulietta Cardinale stopped her having those thoughts. There was no room for them beside the jealousy. It wasn't that she knew of Inigo's love for the Italian Countess, because she didn't; it was simply that Giulietta Cardinale was everything she'd always wanted to be. She had a trim waist and full breasts, while Betha was still quite shapeless. All her attempts to put on weight and develop a figure had been for nothing. If she ate more than she wanted to, she simply got a stomach ache, and didn't put on a pound. Eating a lot of cake instead of proper meals simply made her jumpy and then irritable and snacking just made her not want her meals and made her skin break out.

It wasn't just her figure, though. She moved so gracefully that it was almost possible to believe that her dress concealed wheels instead of legs, and her face... Betha knew her nose was too long, her cheekbones too sharp, her eyes too hard, that there was not a hint of softness about her. Giulietta's face was soft and round, her eyes soft and gentle, her lips soft full and with always just a hint of a smile to them. Her softly curled hair swirled around her shoulders and was always perfect, whereas if Betha did not keep hers piled up and tightly pinned, it turned into a bird's nest of tangles inside the hour. Giulietta was the ideal of womanhood, and Betha knew she was far from it.

She greeted the Countess warmly, as she did all her guests, but already she was burning with jealousy. Her husband was the one thing she did not envy. Clearly, there was no love there. He was a great bear of a man, all beard and unruly hair, who didn't so much speak as boom. Choosing someone to play him now, it would be Brian Blessed. He seemed jovial enough, but Betha couldn't imagine thinking about this man the way she had started to think about Inigo. Almost the first thing he'd said to Betha had been to enquire about the hunting, as though she would know, and she'd seen the slight pursing of Giulietta's lips, speaking volumes about repressed disapproval.

The Italians had made better time than expected, and were more than an hour early, so Inigo had not been there to greet them – he'd been busy training the guards, and what with their organising their children and settling in, Inigo wouldn't get to meet them until the ball that evening. They'd guests so often that he paid little attention to who they were, simply to where they were from. He was expecting Italians, but Italy had many nobles.

It was the custom in Florin for the guests to attend before the hosts, the guests of honour the last of them to arrive. It let everyone get _their_ greetings out of the way first before the hosts were the center of attention. Betha was careful to not leave it more than a few minutes before she would sweep in, on Inigo's arm, both of them dressed most finely. Betha knew of her mother's reputation for fashionable gowns, and did her best to live up to it. Every ball demanded a new gown, and there were those who came simply to see what she would be wearing.

The couple entered and Betha did her best to be as elegant as Giulietta. Her dress, she was pleased to note, was more extravagant than the older woman's. She greeted the Cardinales again, more formally this time, and introduced Inigo first to the couple and then to their children, whose names she had been careful to memorise: Domingo, Giulia, Alessandra, Valentina, Eleonora.

No-one would have seen anything amiss in the behaviour of anyone there unless they had been watching for it. Unless they had already been burning with jealousy. Count Alessandro Cardinale saw nothing. Betha saw the momentary shock, the longing in Inigo's eyes as he looked at Giuietta, saw the tenderness there as he kissed her hand. She saw nothing else, barely registered the presence of the couple's children, couldn't have told you a thing about Count Cardinale's manner as he kissed her hand. The other guests were nothing. All that mattered to Betha was the way that her husband had looked at _that woman._

They took their seats to eat, and of course, the Cardinales, as guests of honour, flanked Inigo and Betha at the top table, Giulietta to Inigo's left, Alessandro to Betha's right. There would be no possibility of speaking to Inigo until the meal was done with, and Betha was so consumed with rage and jealousy that she could barely eat, and made conversation with the Italian Count only mechanically. Her eyes kept darting to Inigo, to the woman at his side. His hand would brush hers, quite accidentally of course, and at first she would snatch it away as though burned, but then she would look at him and say something and...

Betha's father would have delighted in how his daughter was feeling, he would have wanted to document every last thought, and knowing that just made her all the angrier. How dare he do this to her? How dare this Cardinale woman? She'd no idea what they were saying to each other, as most of it was in Italian. Didn't they realise how rude that was to the rest of the guests? Sometimes one of them would all but whisper something, and she was sure that was so the Count wouldn't hear – not that he was paying much attention, deep in conversation about hunting with some of the other men.

Oh, the pair made conversation often enough with other guests, but just as often they would be sharing some private joke in Italian. Inigo did not, through the entire meal, say so much as one word to Betha. He didn't even ask her to pass him anything, and she affected to not have noticed. He had never been a big eater, but his food was as ignored as Betha's. At least she'd had the decency to cut hers up and push it around the plate somewhat.

Finally, the last dish of the banquet was done with, and it was time for the dancing. Betha took Inigo's arm and all but dragged him to the floor, lest he break with protocol and ask the Countess to dance first.

"Tell me," she said, simply, as he began to guide her around the floor, and he at least had the decency to look ashamed for a moment.

"It was a long time ago," he said.

"What, exactly?"

"When I was twenty years old, I was near her home, to study. She dressed as a peasant girl, to find love..."

"And she found it in you."

"She broke my heart."

"It seems to have mended."

"She knew she had to marry him and she knew I could not stay. My heart was just a plaything to her." His words should have sounded bitter, but they didn't. Time, perhaps, had softened the hurt, made it fade into insignificance, or perhaps it was the woman's beauty. Perhaps he was only trying to reassure his wife. If anything, it had the opposite effect. She saw him glance away, but not to Giulietta, she didn't see where – Giulietta's whereabouts she was constantly aware of – but then his eyes were back on her, and no-one would have been able to say there was anything different in their behaviour this night to any other. Now he was a nobleman, Inigo had become as good at pretending as Betha was, but oh how his heart ached. He'd given up on finding love, he had decided long ago to never go back, but now here it was, in his home, and as far from his grasp as ever.

"Please, do nothing foolish."

With that, they were apart, and she found herself dancing with a minor Florinese nobleman whose name she struggled to remember. Every so often, she caught the man glancing over her shoulder at Giulietta. Whenever he did, she would try to tread on his foot and bring his attention back to her, not that she wanted it. She just didn't want Giulietta to have it. The man – ah, yes, Wylsen, that was it – would be too polite to ever mention her clumsiness, so why should she not use it?

Betha had never really _hated_ anyone before. She'd disliked people, distrusted and feared people, but never out and out _hated_ them. Oh, how she hated Giulietta Cardinale. How could she carry out her plan now? Even if Inigo didn't reject her, she would feel completely wretched. She would know that he was thinking of _that woman_ while he was with her, and wouldn't that have been a pain her father would have delighted in researching?

There was only one thought that comforted her – he couldn't have her. Oh, Inigo was entitled to a mistress, that much was true, and sometimes a man's wife and mistress would be good friends. She couldn't imagine ever being that with Giulietta, they could only ever be rivals. It didn't matter, though. Giulietta was married – not happily, now, she suspected, even if she had been before – and _she_ was not entitled to a lover.

Perhaps if she had provided four sons and a daughter, instead of the other way around, her husband might have turned a blind eye to her indiscretions, but with only one son, he wouldn't. It was a comfort only for moments, because then Betha realised that the next dance was going to be unbearable. She would dance with Alessandro, and Inigo would dance with Giulietta. Whirling round the floor, they could say anything to each other, in whatever language they chose.

The moment came, and Betha found her way to the Count. He bowed, she curtseyed, and they were off. She felt like a rag doll, being tossed around by a careless child. Her feet barely seemed to touch the ground as she struggled to keep up with him. Inigo and Giulietta, of course, were the most elegant couple she had ever seen, not that she saw much of them. Looking anywhere but straight at the Count's great chest made her feel terribly dizzy.

Even if she were to go to bed early, feeling unwell, she couldn't do so yet. It was far too early, and she had never yet neglected her guests. The dance came to and end and Betha skidded to a stop, looking, quite coincidentally, straight at Inigo. She curtseyed, and watched his bow as she came up. He looked... pale. Shaken. Giulietta, too, for that matter, did not look quite so elegant as she had before as she glided off to take a seat, fanning herself.

It wasn't that warm. True, there was a sizeable fire roaring in the hearth, but this was Florin in winter, and Giulietta was used to Italy. Inigo had told her more about the world in their five years together, and she knew, now, that Italy could get very hot in summer. That meant that Giulietta was hiding behind her fan. A few of the more impressionable women were copying her. Women who usually copied Betha.

Still, it was time now to leave the floor, let other couples have their turn to dance, while circulating and making conversation. Taking out her own fan, knowing that despite herself, her cheeks were burning, Betha chose a seat away from most people and hid her annoyance as someone sat next to her.

"You are an excellent host, Countess," he said. "My compliments. Might I have the pleasure of the next dance, when you are rested?"

"Of course," she said, without looking round. Partners were only set for those two dances, and usually she would dance mostly with Inigo, but if asked, she would accept. Most men had learned not to ask her too often, for the sake of their toes. She forced herself to calm, to remember that Inigo had not held her parentage against her, that she should not do so with _that woman_'s son.

They chatted a while, but her attention wasn't really on him and she'd barely looked at him. She couldn't have even told you, at that point, what colour his eyes were. He'd asked a little about Inigo, but she'd told him it was best to talk to Inigo himself. He enjoyed recounting his tale, after all, and if he was talking to this boy then he _wasn't_ talking to Giulietta. He wasn't now. She wasn't watching him, no, of course not, she just knew exactly where he was and what he was doing. He was chatting amiably enough with Wylsen's wife, but he still looked a little pale.

"Have you any interest in falconry, Countess?" Domingo asked after a slightly uncomfortable pause.

"Uh, no, I'm afraid I know very little about it. It's not exactly a woman's sport."

"It is my great passion. I'm told that the Florinese Bustard is notoriously difficult to tame, I should love to have the chance to try."

"Then I shall try to find out if one can be obtained for you. Would such a bird survive the journey to Italy?"

"I would ensure that it did. There are few can match me in the care of birds." She nodded and let him talk for a while. Men, she had noticed, would generally have one subject on which they would talk endlessly if they were allowed, and think whoever they had spoken to a great conversationalist if they just made the right affirmative noises occasionally.

At last, she decided it was time to dance again, and stood. He stood with her, took her hand, and guided her to the floor. He bowed, she curtseyed, and then they were in each others arms, and he was smiling at her, his eyes twinkling, and oh, what beautiful eyes. Giulietta was forgotten. Inigo was forgotten. Domingo was, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and he was smiling at her.

Not once did she even come close to treading on his feet.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's note:**__Sorry about the long break before updating, but I was having a hell of a time at work. I'm free of all that now, and I'm stuck in someone else's house bored silly, and ahead with my OU work, so today is Writing Day…_

_**The Countess Cliché, chapter 11**_

Domingo Cardinale was something of a shock to Betha. Firstly, he was extremely handsome, more so than any man she'd ever met, nobleman or not. Secondly, he seemed to genuinely like her. She'd watched him dance and talk politely enough with the other women, but every so often, she'd catch him looking at her, and he'd smile. They danced together once more that evening, and he'd smiled at her the whole time.

Nothing _too _unsubtle, of course, but he hadn't smiled at anyone else, not like _that_ anyway. It left her feeling quite flustered, and she'd quite forgotten to be angry at her husband's behaviour towards the boy's mother. She'd ended up quite enjoying herself, and if Íñigo was still somewhat preoccupied when he accompanied her to her room at the end of the evening, she didn't notice it.

What with the wine and the dancing – the room _had_ become quite warm, she thought – she slept like a log. The next day, they still had to entertain the Italians, of course, which meant dragging them round the house and its grounds, showing off how much they had while the Italians pretended to be interested and impressed, before Betha would entertain the ladies and Íñigo the men, until the evening, when there would be another meal, and more dancing. It would be a smaller affair than the previous evening, but there was usually rather more alcohol.

As it was Betha's family home, it would be her who led the tour, giving the history of various features, and if Íñigo was off training the guards, nobody would mind. The man of the house had duties, that was understood, entertaining was the woman's job. Giulietta and Alessandro managed to feign interest rather better than their daughters, at least until they reached the grand dolls-house. Betha liked to keep the dolls house for last on the tour of the house itself.

It was an especially fine specimen that her grandmother had commissioned, and included some of the grounds, on boards that could be easily swung aside to give access to the house itself. She'd had it updated, of course, and it gave quite an accurate representation of the house as it now was. It even had representations of some of the more notable occupants.

"This is you, I assume?" Domingo asked, pointing at a figure seated in the library, embroidery on her lap. "Where is your husband?"

"Here," she said, ignoring the tone she wasn't sure she'd understood, motioning to the figure posed, sword in hand, sparring with a guard.

"The figures alone are most impressive," Guilia cooed, "See here, Elenora, even the little children here have hands that can hold things."

"We are lucky to have some quite talented craftsmen here," Betha said, "And my own dressmaker fashions their clothes with what she has left over from making mine. If you see…" she opened the miniature wardrobe, and the girls were utterly enthralled.

"You have stables, I assume?" The Count asked, growing bored at the women's amusement. They could come back and look at this trinket later.

"Naturally. It's a little cold, so if you'll come this way for your cloaks…"

She led them through the stables, the grooms answering the Count's questions about the various hunting-horses while the girls fussed over a pair of week-old foals, then on through the grounds towards the mews where the hunting-birds were kept.

"The ladies have no interest in the birds," the Count said. "But I see you have a fine ornamental garden. Would you mind terribly if I took them for a brief walk?"

"Of course not. The head gardener would be delighted to point out some of the more notable plants, though at this time of year…"

"No need, no need. My wife is a keen horticulturalist herself. I'm sure she can keep us informed, and if she has any questions, she'll seek your staff out herself, won't you dear?"

Giulietta pursed her lips a little, but nodded.

"Very well then. We shall meet you back at the gardens." Domingo said, taking Betha's arm.

The man who cared for the birds spoke animatedly with Domingo for a while, before leaving them to inspect the birds alone.

"Good to see the boy taking an interest in a woman at last," the Count said to his wife as they walked, the girls taking the chance for a sit down by a fountain. "I was starting to think he was _one of them."_

"You think that of every man who doesn't hunt as much as you. She is a _married_ woman."

"I know, but still. There's hope, is all I'm saying. Don't tell me you hadn't wondered about him, spending all that time alone with those bloody birds."

"Didn't you spend as much time hunting, when you were young?"

"Oh, yes, but hunting's a real man's sport, not messing about with those feathered monsters. Shame she's married, though. If she were single, I'd have her back in Italy before she knew what was happening to her. Half tempted to see if I can't find a way to get rid of the skinny old streak for her."

Giulietta scowled. At least he hadn't realised there was anything between _them._ "She married for love. She's independently wealthy, but not so much that any man of particular note would be interested in her. Why should she not have?"

"Open your eyes, woman. She doesn't love him, and he doesn't love her. They hardly spoke at dinner, and there's looking after your guests, but… she's not happy. No, I met her father, and that Humpedinck, years back. Good hunter, but he'd be a hellish husband. I'd bet my horse they had her lined up as the next Queen and she married him to get out of it. No woman with half a brain would marry that oaf and she's not stupid, you mark me."

"And you'd destroy her marriage on the strength of that _suspicion_, would you?"

"Why not? There's no children. Look, all it needs here is for him to be away a year."

"I thought you wanted Domingo to marry that French girl."

"I did. But if he'll have this one, and we can make him think it's his idea, then all the better, I say. We can pay the bloody Spaniard off easily enough, I'm sure."

"You are a devious man, Alessandro Cardinale."

"Course I am. How else d'you think I managed to marry the richest and most beautiful woman in Italy in my position?"

"Our fathers were friends."

"True enough, but who do you think put the idea in their heads?"

Giulietta shook her head. "You're impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. And that girl is going to be married to our boy if it's the last thing I do."

"They're fine birds."

"I know little about them, I'm afraid. I've never taken much interest in hunting of any sort."

"As little interest as your husband pays to you, hmm?"

Before she'd had time to react, Domingo had caught her around the waist with one arm, and pulled her back against his body, stroking the backs of his fingers down her cheek and neck as he whispered in her other ear, "Has he ever touched you like this?"

She struggled to get away, but he held her tighter.

"One kiss, and I'll let you go. Don't pretend you don't want that as much as I do."

She stilled. "Just one. And then we must go and rejoin your family."

"Of course."

"Very well."

He turned her, and still holding her close, pressed his lips gently against hers. His fingertips against the back of her neck made her gasp, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss.

He stepped back and bowed, smiling at how stunned she looked as he rose.

"It's a crime, your being married to an old man like that. You deserve a husband who can show you how to be a woman, as well as a Countess."

"A shame, then, that you are too late to claim that role." She said icily, breathing slowly and feeling the blush beginning to fade from her cheeks.

"A shame indeed. You no doubt think that I am a cad, that I treat all women as I have you, but it is not so. It is a cruel world that introduces me to the one woman I would want to marry, when it is too late for me to make her mine. I trust, though that we can be… friends?"

Recovered, and now more than a little angry, Betha set her shoulders. "Not in the way I suspect you mean."

He laughed. "I have had my kiss; I know that my heart was not lying to me. It will have to be enough for me."

"Indeed it will, Sir. Come, your family await us." She walked past him, stiffly, and back outside. Domingo smiled. She would be a challenge, this one, sure enough, but his little Florinese Bustard _would_ be his.

While Betha and the Italian women took tea and worked on their embroidery in the library, Íñigo took the men hunting. He wasn't much of a hunter, but he could ride along with them well enough, as could Domingo, and that meant that while Alessandro and the other men took the lead, they ended up together at the back of the pack, more or less alone.

"You have no children?" Domingo asked at last, annoyed by the lack of conversation.

"One that I know of," Íñigo admitted. "A son."

"And I suppose she would not let you bring him here?"

"He is almost a man, now, and does not know I am his father. I was not born a noble, so there is no reason for his mother to have told him."

Domingo nodded. "Still, I think any boy would be proud to claim Rugen's killer as his father. It is the stuff of stories."

"Perhaps."

"Your wife… deserves children of her own, don't you think?"

"She has told me she would rather wait."

"You and she haven't…"

"You ask impertinent questions, boy," he snapped.

"Indeed," he said. "Cheeky little bastard, aren't I?" He urged his horse on, and left Íñigo wondering just how much his son knew.

"Need to talk to you, boy," the Count said to him as they left their mounts at the stables. "Let's take a walk, I need to stretch my old muscles after that ride."

Domingo followed in silence, thinking that he was probably in trouble. He wasn't far wrong.

"I saw you talking to the Spaniard. Don't. And I don't want to see you've been alone with that woman, either. I can see you want her, but she's married. There's ways of dealing with that but you leave it to me, and behave yourself, you hear? Or I'll see to it you marry that French girl you can't stand. I knew when I was just a boy that your mother was the woman I wanted to marry, before I understood how rich she was, or how beautiful she'd become. Still, I trusted my father to deal with it, and he did. I waited ten years to have her, so you can wait for as long as it takes me to sort this for you, understand?"

"Yes Father."

"You're not too old for me to punish you if you don't."

"No, Father."

"And don't use that tone with me, either," he said, ruffling the boy's hair and making him squirm away. "Just because I've never beaten you yet doesn't mean I won't when it's important."

Domingo did behave himself at dinner, and after when it was time for the dancing. He danced with Betha, but did not smile at her the same way.

"We shall be friends, you and I," he whispered, "I am not the cad I let myself seem earlier. You are too good a woman to be treated so, and I apologise."

"It is my husband you should be apologising to." She said, glancing in Íñigo's direction. "I belong to him."

Domingo laughed. "You do not believe that, and I do not think I would feel as I do if you did. But you both have my respect, and if I cannot be more than your friend, then I shall be that gladly."

Betha stepped back and curtseyed. "We shall see, then, if you can keep that promise."

"You would not object, I hope, if your friend wrote to you, once he had returned home?"

"I think that should be permitted," she agreed, and went off to sit with his sisters.

The next day, the weather was a little warmer, so she took the group for a longer walk through the grounds. It was just the weather for the fruit pasties that everyone thought of when asked about Florinese food, served hot with bowls of custard to dip them in and mugs of warm mulled wine to drink.

While Íñigo sat with Giulietta, who had, she thought, done quite enough walking for a while, Betha led the rest of the group over to the lake, and across the small bridge onto the island. She thought that the girls might like the folly her Grandfather had built there, and perhaps Alessandro would appreciate the fact that it had been used a few times as a base for hunting small game.

They'd only got halfway across the bridge, however, when Valentina slipped on some fallen leaves, and plunged into the icy water. Almost before the others had time to react, Betha had dropped her cloak and dived in after her. She freed the Italian from her cloak and left it in the water, instead concentrating on manhandling the larger girl towards the bank. Alessandro pulled his daughter to her feet, and slung his own cloak around her shivering shoulders, while Betha scrambled out on her own, and took her own cloak from Domingo.

Valentina was pale, and shaking, but as cold as she looked, Betha seemed invigorated, and she was smiling broadly.

"I'm _dreadfully_ sorry," she said, not seeming a bit of it. "I find the water this time of year most bracing, but I'm told it can be quite dangerous to those who aren't used to it. We should get the young lady back to the house as quickly as possible for some dry clothes, and we shall all have some of Cook's special winter soup."

Giulietta and Íñigo had arrived, brought by the commotion, and they were at once surrounded by chattering girls, explaining what had happened. Alessandro picked his daughter up, not trusting her to move quickly enough while shivering so violently, and Íñigo draped his own cloak over her, before Betha led the group into the kitchens, by far the closest part of the house, and helped get the girl settled by the roaring fire.

She dispatched a servant to fetch dry clothes, and shooed the various menfolk away, kitchen staff and nobles alike.

"You should change too," Alessandra said, looking up from helping her younger sister undress.

"Oh, never mind me," Betha said, her cheeks flushed and her dress steaming slightly. "I'll dry off quickly enough, and I'm used to the cold. But I insist you all try some of this soup. I had planned to serve it with dinner tonight, but now seems as good a time as any. I'll send some up for the men. Cook makes it with an oriental root, and it's just the thing to ward off winter chills."

"Foolish girl, walking so close to the edge," the Count snapped. "I don't swim; my God, if your wife had not been there… You must pass on my thanks to her, Signor. She risked her life for my girl."

Íñigo shook his head. "They don't feel the cold as we do, these Florinese. They have a tradition, on the first day of the year when the lake freezes. They break the ice and jump in, then run indoors to sit by the fire and have their wine and food. They all do it, except the very young and the very old. Betha has tried to get me to take part, says it's terrific fun."

"Even so, saving someone from the middle of the lake is another matter. Odd that a Countess would have such a skill."

"She is… an unusual woman," he agreed.

He didn't see the look that passed between the two Italian men. Despite his words, he _was_ rather concerned about Betha, but he couldn't go back to the kitchens to see how she was.

"You know…" the Count continued, "We have not been treated to a demonstration of your skill with a sword, and I hear you are the best there is. I am old and slow, now, and never had much skill to speak of, but Domingo is young and quick and we are all warmed through enough I dare say…"

"I should be delighted." Íñigo agreed, and drew his sword ready.

Domingo _was_ good. Not a master, not by a long way, but he would be able to hold his own against most men. As they sparred, Íñigo found himself pointing out the boy's flaws to him, and couldn't help feel more than a little proud at how quickly his advice was taken and put to use.

Perhaps he would never be a master, but in time, he might be close.

Soon, he began to tire, and he could see that Domingo's concentration was beginning to waiver, so he indicated that they should stop.

"You know," Alessandro said slowly, just as the women returned from the kitchens, all seeming much warmer, if two of them were still slightly bedraggled from their dip. "There are many men who would pay small fortunes for a tutor who could improve their sons' skills in so short a time."


	12. Chapter 12

_Gosh, it's been a while, hasn't it? I ought to get on an finish this!_

_**The Countess Cliché Chapter 12**_

The Italians left a few days later, and if Íñigo didn't notice that Betha was somewhat withdrawn, it was only because he was somewhat preoccupied himself. Fezzik had noticed, though, and managed to get Íñigo away from the house so they could talk.

"You're not happy." Fezzik said at last.

"No... you remember I told you about the girl I dreamed of? The Italian countess who I fell in love with?"

"Of course." Fezzik frowned, wondering why Íñigo was thinking about her now. He'd thought his friend content now that he was married. He was never particularly quick on the uptake.

"That was her. Countess Cardinale."

"Oh!"

"And the boy, Domingo... he's my son."

"Oh... I suppose you do look a little alike. Nobody knows but you and Giulietta?"

"And now you. I think the boy might suspect, but the Count... no, and nor does Betha."

"So... now what?"

"I don't know, Fezzik. I just don't know. We're both married. It's as impossible now as it was then."

Fezzik didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything, just laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. Íñigo smiled at him, but it was a look Fezzik hadn't seen in a long time, somehow filled with sadness. Íñigo patted Fezzik's hand then shook his head and strode off back towards the house.

* * *

Betha, on the other hand, had nobody to talk to. She knew better than to trust any sort of secret to the women who attended her parties, or any of her servants, because not one of them could resist the temptation to gossip. Íñigo and Betha's marriage being less than perfect? It would keep them going for months. While she trusted Fezzik, he was Íñigo's friend, it wouldn't be fair to talk to him. The Archbishop would have listened and given her advice, but she knew how it would be. He would remind her how foolish she'd been in marrying Íñigo in the first place, told her that now she _was_ married she would just have to make the best of it, and wasn't it about time she had a child?

She sighed. She was married to a peasant old enough to be her father, and now, the impossible had happened and an attractive nobleman close to her own age liked her. Liked her as much as she liked him. If she'd not been married, she would have returned the kiss far more enthusiastically, she knew that. Íñigo hadn't ever kissed her or touched her like that, Domingo had been right. Oh, he was as attentive to her as it was proper to be in company, but without it...

She thought back to how Íñigo had looked when she'd first seen him in the clearing, and about how Domingo had looked as they sparred, and suddenly she was imagining Domingo stood there in the clearing without his shirt on, and the thought made her feel... she couldn't describe it. Far too warm, but with a shiver running down her spine. It was... it was exactly what the thought of finally taking Íñigo to her bed had made her feel, but a hundred times stronger.

Somehow, now, she couldn't seem to be angry that Íñigo obviously had strong feelings for Domingo's mother. She closed her eyes and sighed, then shook her head, trying to clear the image. It didn't work very well. She just started thinking about the way it had felt to be held close to Domingo, his lips on hers and his fingertips at the nape of her neck. This wouldn't do. It really wouldn't. _I'll dream of him tonight_, she thought _unless I make sure I'm too tired to dream at all._

She strode to the stables, saddled her horse, and went for a long gallop. People who walked everywhere thought riding was easy, but riding fast was a lot of work. By the time the light was fading and she'd let the horse amble back to the stables she was just about dead on her feet.

* * *

"You showed real promise with the sword, Son," Count Cardinale said as they boarded their ship. "But you need training to make the most of it. What do you say?"

"Hmm? Oh." Domingo had been distracted, watching the page he'd handed the letter he'd written to Betha. "It is certainly a fitting skill for a nobleman," he agreed, "If you think I should train, then I shall."

"Good. I shall send you to the best trainer there is."

"Thank-you, Father," he said with real feeling. He knew that if the Count were to send him away soon there was a risk that if Betha wrote back he would miss the letter, but, once he was away, it might be easier to exchange letters. They would have to be careful what they wrote, of course, but... he smiled. There were ways and ways to write letters.

"I'll start to make enquiries as soon as we're home. But you be sure you'll work hard. The best doesn't come cheap."

"Of course I shall."

* * *

All too soon, the Rugen home had guests again, Swedes this time, though thankfully, she thought, nobody Íñigo knew. It was a useful distraction. However, she thought, she wasn't going to be able to keep entertaining people like this all the time. Her money was far from running out, but it _was_ depleting. Perhaps they should start visiting others instead for a time, let the land she owned build the coffers up a bit again.

The letter from Domingo arrived just before the Swedes left. Íñigo took no notice of the correspondence his wife received, most of it was about rents or tenants grievances, cottages that needed repairing or cows which had died. Betha sat alone in her room and read the letter over again, ignoring a message about a flooded field.

_I know this letter comes to you sooner than you had expected, but I could not wait until I got home, as I feared my new friend would forget me as soon as other guests arrived. Philosophers have said that a friend is a jewel without price, and I have to agree with them. I shall write again as soon as I am safe home, and will await your reply with impatience._

She sighed. She'd no idea what to say in response, so she tucked it away in a secret drawer – a man like her father would never have left a piece of furniture without a hiding place – and tried to forget it. The flooded field needed her attention, and she wasn't sure what anyone expected her to do about it.

* * *

"All I'm saying," Allesandro said to his wife as they walked round their gardens, "Is that the boy needs the best tutor there is. Everyone I've spoken to about it says Montoya is the best swordsman in the world, and I've heard gossip that Rugen's started cutting back a bit on the visitors. I don't see that she can keep it up forever, on her fortune. So, if we offered a decent amount, I'm sure they'd take Domingo in to train him."

"You just want to see him married to the Rugen girl."

"It's what he wants."

"She _has_ a husband. In case you'd forgotten, she's married to the man you want to train Domingo. He's young, he'll do something rash, and they'll duel. I'm just thinking of his safety."

"He's no fool, my love," he said, guiding her to a bench. "I'll see to Montoya, don't you worry."

Giulietta frowned. "You're not planning to kill him?"

"Nothing so crass. Just... I have some ideas, but they'll mean calling in some favours so I want Domingo to spend some more time with the girl. Be sure she's the one for him and sure she feels the same way."

Giulietta shook her head. "I... I suppose you know best."

"Of course I do."

Alessandro's letter to Betha arrived at the same time as Domingo's.

_Father wants me to learn the sword, and says he plans to send me away that I might learn from the best. I fear I might miss your letter if I am to go soon, but I shall let you know at once where I am to be, so that you can write to me there. I beg you, my friend, do not wait for that letter before you reply, I am impatient to hear how you fare, and will think you have forgotten me already if I do not hear from you soon._

She didn't know how to respond to that letter either, so she opened the next.

_Countess, and indeed, your good Husband – I am determined that my son's education shall be the finest I can afford. I hear from all those who know but one name when I say that I want my son to train with the finest swordsman in the world, and I am sure you do not need me to tell you what name that is. I shall pay handsomely if you, Sigñor Montoya, would consent to having my son stay with you a time to train. _

She took the letter to Íñigo, who told her that the decision was hers. He was just a peasant, he would do whatever she required of him. Her feelings on the matter were mixed. Yes, she would like to see the young Italian again, but would he, perhaps, be too great a temptation? Still, she was sure that if Íñigo had any real objection to him making a longer visit that he would have said so. Domingo had been a fast learner, and íñigo had obviously enjoyed sparring with the boy.

She sent back two letters

_Count Cardinale, I have consulted my husband, and he has no objections to assisting in your son's education. It will be good for him, too, to have a capable partner, and so all that remains to be settled is the payment. I trust that you will make a fair offer, and once I receive your reply preparations shall be made for your son's accommodation._

_My friend, it seems that further letters will be unnecessary, as your father plans for you to return here, and study with my husband. I certainly know of no man who is his equal with the sword, so I am sure that you will learn much from him, and perhaps you will also enjoy spending some time with our falconer. _

She sent them back, feeling both cheered and apprehensive. Íñigo, too, had mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was to have the chance to get to know his son better. On the other, it hadn't entirely escaped his notice that his son was apparently quite keen to get to know his wife better. Not that he minded that, as such, but he knew how people talked. It wouldn't take anything resembling proof for them to start insinuating an affair. The boy's presence might even be enough. He shook his head. Time would tell. If there seemed to be a problem, they could always send him home again.

After she'd sent the letters, something occurred to Betha, and so she cornered Íñigo and dragged him out to walk in the gardens.

"We never talked about the Cardinales," Betha began.

"Do we need to? It is not Giulietta who will be here, it is her son."

"Yes... about that... her son... he isn't the Count's son, though, is he?"

Íñigo's uncomfortable silence was all the answer she needed. As if things weren't bad enough, she mused, I'm falling for my illegitimate step-son.

"Does he know?"

Íñigo sighed. "I've really no idea. I assume he knows better than to say anything if he does."

"Who does know?"

"You, me, Giulietta and Fezzik."

"Hmm. Well, I suppose the most danger there is from Fezzik. Still, there is nothing to be done. I won't deny that the money will be useful, and... well, he's your son. He should know his father, even if he doesn't... well. I'd suggest not telling him."

"I agree. If only because he would expect me to go easy on him in his training, and I must not do that."

"Quite. It all keeps life interesting, I suppose."

"The Chinese have a saying..."

"I know. Let us endeavour to keep our times as uninteresting as possible, hmm?"


	13. Chapter 13

_Right, while I wait for the rest of the house to wake up so we can make use of the day..._

_**The Countess Cliché Chapter 13**_

Domingo arrived, and was settled into a room without incident. Count Cardinale's payment was as generous as Betha had suspected it would be – he was engaging a nobleman, really, and that always commanded a premium – and so the entertaining did not need to be interrupted. At the various events, Domingo conducted himself impeccably, dancing and flattering the women and charming the men but always deferring to Íñigo and Betha.

His progress with his swordsmanship was slower than it had been at first, but still good, and he soon earned the respect of the falconer as well. He behaved so well that Íñigo suspected that he'd imagined the boy's interest in Betha because of his own interest in Giulietta.

Still, over the months as he settled in, he became more familiar with both of them, and as the weather improved, when no guests were present, the three often spent time together in the gardens while Fezzik watched the staff children playing nearby. He taught them both a little about falconry, and had begun taming a Florinese Bustard, as he'd said he'd like to, though he was bitten more than once. íñigo simply used it as an excuse to train him to use his left hand while his right was bandaged.

Sometimes, when Betha decided to go riding, Domingo would run alongside her horse, getting the exercise that Íñigo insisted he needed. Íñigo tried to remember everything he had been taught, so that he could pass it on. He had the boy squeeze rocks, practice his footwork and work on his strength and agility as much as he did his swordsmanship. He would never be as good as Íñigo, he just didn't have the same motivation or dedication to it, but he _would_ be a master.

He received letters from his parents and sisters, though he kept them to himself. As he trained, the improvement in his physique did not escape the notice of the noblewomen who visited, but while he would dance with them, he would always nod towards Íñigo and tell them that he could not think of courting while he trained, that the distraction would be disastrous. His reluctance just made him all the more attractive to them, something which he found quite amusing.

"I had not thought," he said around a pie as the trio relaxed in the gardens, "Of the other benefits of accepting your training."

"What benefits would those be?" Íñigo asked, noticing that his son was stretched out rather close to his wife. Betha, he knew, would not do anything stupid, but he had noticed that she was always a little flushed after she'd danced with the boy, and he was sure that once or twice while she sat watching them spar that he'd caught her eyes on Domingo.

"The women! I swear, when I have completed this training, I shall have the world's noblewomen forming a queue at my door." He shook his head. "But more than that... I have learned a far greater patience than I thought myself capable of. Just a year ago, I would have lost my temper many times over with the Bustard, thinking that I made no progress and it was beyond me to tame it... but I think I am beginning to earn its trust. The bird is calmer in my presence now."

Neither íñigo nor Betha thought that perhaps Domingo might not be talking purely about falconry, but he was following the count's advice – repeated circumspectly in most of his letters – to ensure that he was _certain_ about wanting to marry Betha, and to do nothing rash and give no indication of his feelings until his father decided it was time to act and remove Íñigo from the equation.

Equally circumspect, he'd asked the count to ensure that whatever he chose to do, that his teacher should come to no harm. He'd come to respect Íñigo greatly, had even told him that he held him in the same regard he would a second father. Íñigo's insistence that he should not say such things of a mere peasant teacher just confirmed his suspicions, and he began to think of Count Cardinale as just that.

How could he ignore the evidence of his own appearance? He was nothing like his sisters, after all, and if it hadn't been for those scars and that awful moustache, he was sure the likeness would have been obvious to all. He had been tempted to grow his hair long, like Íñigo's, but that, he thought, would have been asking for trouble, and he had continued to trim it short.

His patience might have been tried if Íñigo had given any indication that he had actually any intention of truly making Betha his wife, but he knew Betha was still a little uneasy being alone with him if they didn't have the horse's height to separate them. It was him she wanted, not her husband, and the peasant wasn't going to press the matter now when he hadn't for years.

* * * *

The bombshell came eight months after Domingo had arrived. He'd opened what he had assumed was just another letter to find that it was a summons from his mother. Count Cardinale had been badly hurt while out hunting, and Domingo was needed in Italy.

_Your father insists that your training must come first, but I cannot bear the thought that he could die and leave us ladies alone. The running of this estate is beyond me, if nothing else, so I fear that it is time for you to return and truly become a man._

Domingo blinked. He could please them both if he took Íñigo with him. He ran at once to find the Spaniard, and explain his plan. Íñigo took him to Betha, and to his surprise she agreed. Íñigo did not run the estate, she was popular enough to not need protection, and if she did, she had Fezzik and the guards. She saw to the arrangements, and they were on a boat bound for Italy by the following mid-day.

* * * *

Life for Betha continued much as it had, with parties and the local people to oversee, but she was careful to always appear a little melancholy. It was easy to pretend that she missed her husband terribly, because, frankly, she did. There was nobody to watch at swordplay, nobody but Fezzik to walk with in the gardens. There were letters, from Íñigo and from Domingo, advising her of the Count's condition, and both saying how much they missed her and wished it could have been proper or practical for her to visit, but if anything, that just made matters worse.

She was lonely, and bored, and her parties were losing quite a bit of their sparkle. Without Íñigo and Domingo to ogle and dance with the ladies were less keen to visit, and she herself found that she was not quite so perfect a hostess as she had been. After a while, she became aware of a certain amount of whispering.

_She's barren, he's left her because she couldn't give him a child._

_He caught her kissing that young Italian. Well can you blame her, the peasant's old enough to be her father. _

_He's impotent, and left because she asked him if she could take a consort to give her a child. _

She knew there was nothing she could say that would stop the gossiping, so she kept quiet. She didn't mention it in her letters, and simply cried herself to sleep.

* * * *

The Count had been accidentally shot in the leg and compounded the problem by falling from his horse. The wound had become infected, and for weeks he had remained bed-ridden, delirious as often as not. Nobody was sure if he would live or die, but he was a strong man, and fought the infection with every ounce of that strength.

Even once the fever had passed, though, he was weak, and became prone to every little illness. He became pale and thin, and even when he was not ill, the hunting he so enjoyed was out of the question. Domingo had taken over the running of the estate, but insisted on his sisters helping so he still had time to train with Íñigo.

If Íñigo spent a lot of time with the Countess, what of it? Who else did she have to turn to for comfort? She dared not show her husband that she was as worried for him as she was, lest it cause him to worry. Her son was always so busy and her daughters equally concerned for their father, they needed their mother to be strong.

Guilia, the eldest girl, had troubles enough of her own. She was supposed to be marrying soon, but how could she when her father was too ill and weak to give her away? Giulietta knew that her daughter was impatient to marry – after all, she was genuinely in love with her fiancé – but there was nothing she could do to help, and if he was made to wait too long, there was always the chance that the wedding would be called off entirely.

Still, the Count did eventually recover enough that the wedding could be held, and if he had to lean on his daughter a little to make the trip along the aisle nobody would be so crass as to comment on it. Seeing his daughter married seemed to do him no end of good. He would never be as strong as he had once been, but there was no longer any need to worry, and he could even ride with the hunt, so long as they didn't get too carried away.

When Íñigo pointed out that he really needed to be getting back to Florin – by the time they got there, it would be getting dangerously close to the year he was allowed – the Count declared that he was quite well enough to travel, and that it would do them all good to get away from a house they had all come to associate with sickness.


End file.
